Find a New Fight
by WhatHaveWeDone
Summary: Set between the Elenium and the Tamuli this is an AU that no-one needed to read and I certainly didn't have time to write.
1. Chapter 1

**This was first a pondering, then a wrote a few scenes, and those three scenes turned into eleven thousands words. So then I thought I had better come up with a plot for it, so I did, and it's now around the 35 thousand word mark, so I thought I had better start sharing!**

 **I assume that you have some familiarity with the events of the Elenium, so I don't do any recapping. It's been a while since I properly read those books so please forgive me if I've forgotten or mucked up anything - I'm happy to have it pointed out!**

 **Also, for this to work, you have to pretend that Berit was never introduced in those books, he makes his first entrance here. Consider anything he did as done by one of the others instead. For all that I enjoyed reading the books I kinda feel that he didn't have much actual character so I gave him one!**

* * *

The Assassin studied the message he held: politely written on fine parchment but requesting an urgent meeting and leaving no room to doubt that his attendance was expected. And quickly. It wasn't unusual for someone rich and powerful to request his services. Rich went without saying – he was expensive after all but there were few people _this_ powerful and he had hoped to avoid notice by all of them.

He didn't like being told what to do: the cost he had paid last time had been too high, so he thought of declining. However, he traded on his reputation as much as his skills and declining too quickly could send the wrong sort of signals. He would have to make enquiries as to how this man came by his name, but for now the meeting would go ahead.

He gave a small sigh and penned a short note with his instructions. It wouldn't go directly to the requestor – he would never expose his bolt holes like that – but it would get there quickly enough.

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" The broken nosed man asked his blond companion.

"Surely we don't need to go to such lengths?" The two men were darting between shadows, keeping to the side of the street. They weren't used to sneaking so it was probably just as well that anyone who was watching for them would be trying to keep out of the driving spring rain that had covered the city of Cimmura since sundown.

"Unless you want the whole city to know the Prince Consort is meeting suspicious characters in the rough part of town then yes, we need to be a bit discreet." was Kalten's terse reply.

"And why are we in the rough end of town?" Sparhawk was not lighthearted by nature and the last few weeks had not aided his temperament, nor did his sodden clothing.

"Because this is the only place the intermediary would meet." The blond man stopped, reaching for the other's arm to get his attention. "Look, I barely know anything about this man, and the only think I know for sure about his employer is that he is very very skilled. There are rumours that he was part of the Black Brotherhood of Assassins, if you hold that such a thing even existed. Anyway, he is skilled enough to name his price and choose his jobs, so he can be picky about how he finds those jobs. And apparently that includes meeting with a third party rather than himself." He shook his head "I don't really understand either, but if you want him, this is the way it's got to be."

"You're right, Kalten, of course. You're always right." Sparhawk shrugged. "But we don't really have time for this. Is that the tavern? I'd quite like to get inside before I drown." He pointed to a building just a few doors down, it's battered wooden sign showing a flagon of wine and a wheel of cheese.

"It is" the blond man agreed.

"Then lets' go meet this 'intermediary'. How will we recognise him?"

"I was told he will be wearing a cravat."

"You're not serious?" Sparhawk was incredulous. "A cravat? In this place?"

"Perfectly serious. Try and be nice about it won't you?"

"I'll do my best" Sparhawk muttered as they ducked through the door, throwing back his hood.

The inside of the tavern was not as grim as the well-weathered sign suggested, it being basic but at least clean looking and warm. The smell of fresh beer was stronger than that of stale, and no one was fighting so it wasn't a disreputable as he had feared. Glancing around Sparhawk noticed that indeed there was one man who stood out among the traders and workers. One who had, amongst the scuffed boots and stained cloaks of the men at the other tables, a bright and clean green cravat.

The man was young – young from his perspective anyway, surely only 25– and somehow handsome yet plain at the same time. His dark hair and dark eyes were common in this part of the world and his clothing was good quality though mildly worn. In short there was nothing about him that would catch the eye. Apart from the damn cravat.

Stopping at the table Sparhawk asked "Are you the intermediary?" Wiping the last of the rain from his face.

"I am" the man – the boy replied, gesturing to the seats opposite with his spoon, mopping the last of his soup with a piece of bread. "And you are the potential client." He gave an easy smile.

The Sparhawk and Kalten sat as they had been invited, and two drinks were bought over without them even having to ask. The man gave a nod of thanks to the server.

"As much as it is a pleasure to meet you, friend, why can't we meet who we need to in person?" Sparhawk didn't want to antagonise this messenger, but his time was short and he had little patience for games such as this.

"My employer is very cautious by nature. His skills mean he has a certain amount of notoriety and he finds it preferable to be as anonymous as possible." That had the tone of an oft-repeated answer to an oft-asked question, and the boy's pleasant demeanour did not change.

"Your employer thinks a lot of himself" the Kalten disparaged, taking a mouthful of his wine, though Sparhawk thought he wasn't as unimpressed as he sounded.

The Intermediary's looked turned sharp "So do you, or you wouldn't be here. If you don't wish to continue then you are free to leave, or do you come with a proposition? I would hate to have been dragged out on a night like this for no reason."

There was something about the young man across the table that made the Sparhawk consider his words carefully. It always paid to be respectful to others, even to a servant. Even to someone else's servant. Especially this man's servant. And besides, the boy had done nothing to earn his ire.

"We are aware of your employers specialty, but what we are proposing is a bit different." He ventured, trying to gauge how much to share.

"Different will probably be more expensive" the Intermediary said casually, brushing crumbs from that ridiculous cravat.

"I'm not worried about the price, as much as your employers loyalty." Sparhawk countered.

"Loyalty?" the Intermediary raised a questioning eyebrow. "Usually people ask about success rate or discretion. No one has ever asked him to be _loyal"_ he almost spat the word "before."

"Well I'm not the usual person."

"No, it seems not." The Intermediary paused, before asking. "How did you come to have enough information to arrange this meeting: his name usually only runs in …... shall we say... certain circles …... of which you do not seem to fit."

Kalten answered, drawing the Intermediaries gaze so Sparhawk could study him a little more carefully. They had been friends before they had ever become knights, and working together was second nature. "It was me. I've heard rumours mostly, friend of a friend of a friend. I'm not sure I'm happy to give you a name though."

The Intermediary snorted "Think he's going to go looking for someone to blame? It doesn't work like that, but he does like to know how far his fame has spread."

Sparhawk watched the stranger's movements: how one hand was never far from his body, maybe to be able to grab a weapon if he felt threatened. He saw that though giving due attention to the conversation his eyes would occasionally flicker to one side or the other, maintaining an awareness of the whole room. Wise, when your job was to meet dangerous men and discuss dangerous things.

"Far and wide, isn't that enough?" Kalten was continuing.

"I suppose it will have to be." The man took a long gulp of wine. "So, let's be blunt. Who do you want killed? Do you want it discrete or messy? Soon or... at leisure? And why."

Sparhawk was taken aback: there was blunt and there was this. "Is this your idea of discretion? Do you interrogate everyone like this?" Maybe he was being a bit dramatic, but he needed just a bit more time to think. He had agreed rather hastily to Katlan's idea, and it was only now that he realised what he was risking.

The Intermediary was leaning back in his seat, gesturing with one hand.

"Of course, how else would he know whether to accept your offer? He can make it look like an accident, use poison, use blades, make an example, even make the target disappear. There has never been anyone as good at this than him. He can get past any guards, into any locked room. Tell me what you want and he will tell you if he is prepared to do it." Discussing death as casually as another would discuss the weather or the crops, but the Sparhawk could feel the truth radiating from the young man. If he was really as good as the rumours said...

The two friends glanced at each other. Once they told the Intermediary the cat would be out of the bag, there would be no going back, and if the wrong people got wind of this Sparhawk could lose everything.

"What difference does it make why?" Sparhawk asked, genuinely curious.

"He doesn't say, but always wants to know." The man shrugged with one shoulder – he obviously didn't care what questions he was paid to ask. "Personally, I think it helps him work out how much to charge."

Sparhawk stalled again, taking a sip of his drink before speaking.

"How did you come to this line of work?" It was a change of topic, but the first thing that came into his head.

"The usual sort of story: street kid, bit of this, bit of that, found someone that trusts me to ask the right questions." The Intermediary had an easy way of talking, calculated Sparhawk was sure to put the others at ease. In any other circumstances he was probably a fine conversationalist. "Are you going to answer mine?"

Sparhawk was out of time and also out of options so he revealed "We're not looking for anyone to be ….. killed. We want someone protected."

The Intermediary sat forward, frowning but eyes alight and interested. "That _is_ different. Protected from what?"

"We think someone is going to try and kill... someone close to me. I'm not going to be able to protect them, and I need to know they will be safe." That was enough for now.

The Intermediary studied them both, eyes surely taking in every detail. His expression didn't change, betraying no thoughts, concentrating on their faces far more than was really comfortable.

"Hmmm " He sat back, fingers drumming out a rhythm on the tabletop as he considered.

"Look, just take the suggestion to your employer, and if he agrees in principle we can discuss the details but I will need an answer quickly." Sparhawk prompted, all too aware of what he had to do afterwards.

"Oh, I think I know the details. You, Prince Consort are going to be to be away on .. ahem.. diplomatic business shortly. Bringing in one of the minor lords – someone trust worthy but not too ambitious to be made formal heir to the throne until such time as the Queen bears children. And you think while you are escorting your chosen here for the ceremony that Duke Gluvir the so-called Duke of Gluttony will attempt to kill the Queen. If the Queen dies before she has a legal heir then Gluvir will likely be declared nearest relative by dint of his mother's bloodline and will take the throne."

Sparhawk couldn't help but show his amazement as this boy, this spokesperson for a hired killer proved his understanding of this complex political situation.

"Oh come on, my Lord" The Intermediary laughed, brief but genuine and open. "Your face is well known across the city, and the Duke's ambitions aren't exactly subtle." He drummed his fingers on the table some more while talking. "You think only the nobility care about politics? If the Cimmura burns – and it likely will if the Duke tries to use any sort of force - it will be us who burn first, not those in a palace."

Sparhawk nodded, impressed at the boy's insight. "So, do you think your employer will do it? You are communicating with him after all, aren't you, all that finger drumming." Sparhawk was pleased to have caught on to that. From the look Kalten gave he wasn't the only one to have noticed. The Intermediary wasn't as smart as he thought.

Another raised eyebrow, and another smile, this time with a glint of something triumphant in his eyes. "Ah yes, well. It's good to remember not to underestimate someone you don't know. Why him?"

"I believe that he is the best. Who else would know how to protect her from whomever else the Duke might hire?"

The Intermediary closed his eyes briefly, opening them to gaze into a corner of the room, but eyes not focused. "Yes, I have heard he hires the most disreputable of men."

"Do you have enough information to take to your employer? We can then discuss payment. And I will need surety that mine will be the only coin he will be taking." Sparhawk pressed, keen to know if he had to come up with a back up plan, worried that the Duke might have got here first.

The Intermediary pulled his focus back to the table. A signal must have been passed for he said "He will do it. When you are back you can find me again and pay what you think the life of your wife is worth." He must have seen their doubtful looks.

"Oh, I have full authority to speak on his behalf and I'm sure you will be suitably grateful for his service. He will be in place tomorrow night. And please don't worry about 'loyalty' and 'surety'. He only takes one coin for a contract. You don't get to command the sort of premium he does without a certain amount of trustworthiness." He grinned to show he was aware of the irony of that after their discussions this evening.

"Does he need any information, guard rotas, layout of the palace, anything like that." Sparhawk queried, an odd mix of relief and bemusement at the speed and which an agreement had been made.

The Intermediary snorted. "I doubt it and I won't insult him by asking."

"Then we will see you in a couple of weeks….. what is your name?"

"My name?" The man looked both shocked and confused to be asked such a simple question but covered it quickly. "No body asks that. I'm not important enough. I'm just known as the Intermediary."

"Everyone has a name, and we've even shared a drink." Sparhawk coaxed. This boy was clearly intelligent and street-smart enough to survive working for who he did – he might be useful as an ally himself.

Once again Sparhawk felt himself studied closely, and evaluated.

"My name is Berit." The boy spoke softly, a smile in his eyes.

"Then we will see you in a couple of weeks, friend Berit."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading and all comments and feedback are welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

Queen Ehlana was giving less than half her attention to the steward who was standing in front of her, delivering the household report. She was, once again, wondering when Sparhawk would return, when this heir business would be sorted, and she could stop worrying about assassins around every corner. Well, maybe not stop worrying completely, that wasn't really possible for a Queen. Sparhawk had said that she would be adequately protected, but so far she had not seen any sign of sword nor shield.

She didn't let any of this show on her face, of course – that would have been very rude – and she was listening enough to gather that one of her footmen had been found dead after falling from a wall and a guardsman they thought was involved was missing.

"Please extend my sympathies to the family, and arrange for his pension to be paid. The guardsman is to be located for questioning." She instructed, just as the door opened and a maid bought in a tray of tea.

"Of course, your Majesty" the steward bowed, stepping backwards, having been in her service long enough to recognise a dismissal when she didn't say it.

"Please be careful Your Majesty, the water is quite hot. You may wish to let it cool a little before pouring." The maid spoke softly, laying out the porcelain, knowing the Queen liked to make her own tea. She also withdrew, a guard closing the door behind her, and the Queen was alone in her sitting room.

The Queen valued these moments of solitude. Her days were heavily scheduled and filled with audiences, trade agreements, documents and reports. There was always something demanding her attention or a courtier vying for her favour. Her afternoon tea and quiet contemplations allowed her face her duties with a patience she didn't always feel. Added to this issue with an heir, and the bigger problem they were all trying to avoid and...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening again: without a knock! The guardsman was stepping briskly into the room, closing it again behind him.

"You have no time for tea your Majesty, I need to get you somewhere safer."

"I beg your pardon, how dare you!" She stood, affronted at his behaviour.

"Your husband has been spotted on the road, he's probably only about two hours away now. Duke Gluvir knows this and has stepped up. My fellow door guard had been bribed to leave his post and he tried to get me to leave too, so I suspect that very shortly there will be some very violent men come through that door."

Queen Ehlana felt true fear for the first time since her husband had left: this young man speaking so casually and certainly of someone coming to kill her. Nor was she oblivious to the fact that the man himself was armed, and she was alone.

"If that is the case I should call for my entire guard." And she moved forward to do just that, but the guard blocked her, refusing to move aside.

"Those that are loyal are too far away. We have a minute, maybe less." His tone was calm, yet urgent. Professional, in fact. And his brown eyes strangely trustworthy.

The guard... No, she was no sure this was no guard. The man in the _guard's_ _uniform_ moved into the room, gaze searching the walls.

"The Duke has left it rather late to show his hand," she murmured to herself as she watched and he gave her a sideways look, before turning back to his study of one of the bookcases.

"He made his first move the day your husband left. Your footman did not trip on the battlements in the dark. Your missing guardsman is not missing. I haven't been able to dispose of all the bodies I'm afraid, so there is someone who is going to get a very nasty surprise when they go into the wrong room."

Ehlana couldn't dwell on that horrifying implication too deeply as the man pulled on something at the edge of a shelf, and the bookcase swung outward to reveal a dark and draughty passage.

"If you wouldn't mind." He gestured for the queen to enter and she stepped into the tunnel, stopping at the boundary of the darkness. Behind, the man lit a torch and pulled the bookcase back against the wall, sealing them in.

"What now?" She asked, the sound echoing strangely in the confined space.

"We stay here. With any luck we won't actually have to leave the palace – you just need to be out of harms way for a few hours. " He spoke more softly and his voice didn't carry – he was obviously accustomed to hiding.

And she was accustomed to waiting. Never in a hidden passageway from her own sitting room. Never in the sole company of a mysterious stranger who knew of such passageways when she did not. _That_ was something that she would need to do something about.

The flickering torch light illuminated the man tilting his head, ear pressed to the wall, listening carefully to the room beyond. He raised his finger to his lips in a gesture for silence. She nodded understanding and then heard... something... raised voices, maybe some angry shouting. It quickly died down but the tension in her shoulders remained.

They continued to wait. A breeze down the back of her neck made her wonder about the other end of this tunnel – how long it was, where it might lead, who might be lurking in the dark. Was it pure luck that there was this escape route in her sitting room, or were there more? How extensive was this network and who knew about it? She didn't want to tear the palace apart to make these safe, but it might yet come to it.

The darkness made time seem elastic: an age or a moment could have passed and very little would have felt different. Only the torch still burning gave any meaning to it, and the length it had burnt indicated that maybe she had been standing there for an hour and a half when the man straightened and moved his ear from the door.

"If you will excuse me a moment please your Majesty" he said with impeccable politeness. He pushed slightly on the wall, the bookcase moved and he stepped out. He left the entrance ajar slightly so she could hear the sound of scuffling and some wet noises, before he soon re-entered their hiding place, sheathing a knife.

While grateful her protector had returned her mind dwelt on what could have just happened in the room beyond. Whatever had happened it was over quickly and he wasn't even breathing hard. It bought home how dangerous he was and the Queen began to feel a little less safe with him nearby.

Another stretchy eternity passed in silence and flickering light.

"Your husband has returned, so it is time for me to return you, Your Majesty." He told her at last.

"How can you tell?" She whispered in reply.

"He has a ….. unique tone of voice when he is annoyed." The man smirked, and despite herself the Queen agreeing. Sparhawk was indeed stupendous when angered.

"So in a moment I will open the door for you to complete what you need to and then I will make myself scarce. Your husband knows what _he_ needs to do."

* * *

"And then he just pushed you out of a bookcase and walked into the dark bowels of the palace?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it pushed. He was a gentleman throughout. But yes, I came out and he wondered off into the tunnel I assume."

It was several hours later, in another sitting room. The paperwork had been signed, the ceremony completed and now the Queen had a legal heir. There had been a feeling of a disturbed ant hill in the palace ever since: a combination of the Queens sudden disappearance, reappearance, the summoning of witnesses and clerics, and no doubt the scurrying away of anyone with a guilty conscience.

Duke Gluvir had been among the watching nobility, a sour look on his face that was very satisfying.

Refreshments had been bought for the Queen, her husband and his best friend, but only Kalten had taken even a single bite. He was never one to turn down food but there was too much to discuss.

"Would you be able to describe him?" Sparhawk asked, pacing about the room. The immediate danger had passed, they had achieved what they set out to do but he was still worried. This plot by Gluvir might have been a coincidence or it might have been a distraction and he wasn't sure what would be worse.

"Yes, but there was nothing notable about him – no description I could give would help pick him out of a crowd. He was thoroughly ordinary." The Queen calmly stated, perfectly poised despite the day's excitement.

"That's a shame. One of the servants found the room he was talking about by the way. They checked one of the lower basement stores and found a pile of bodies. Eight of them."

"And the one who went off the wall." Kalten interjected. "And the four who were in that other room." There was a reason they were not in the Queen's favourite room, the four corpses bloodying the fine carpet one. The men trying to dismantle the bookcase to get access to the passageway was another. "Did you notice all the kills were clean? Death blows only. None of them had blood on their weapons and some of them weren't even drawn. I think he is as skilled as we were told. He might even have been a Black Brother after all."

"That is behind us now." The Queen moved the conversation on, not wanting to dwell on it. "We need to work out what you are going to do about the next crisis. Oh, don't give me that look Sparhawk. Of course I don't want you to walk into this sort of danger but I am well aware of the stakes here. This is a matter for the Church and that makes it a matter for you. Gather your friends and go do what you have to do."

Sparhawk moved to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"You know you are the most important thing to me, if there was a choice I would always choose you." He told his wife.

"I know, but the world needs saving." She responded.

Sparhawk smiled. "I thought you would say that: the others are already on the way, they should be here in three days."

* * *

Two days later Sparhawk once again sat in the not-quite-as-bad-as-it-might-be tavern opposite a smiling man who was this time wearing a rather tasteful blue cravat. It still did not fit in with the environment but at least it didn't burn the eye.

"I take it you are satisfied with my employers work? The Queen is after all, still alive." The Intermediary suggested, toying with a half filled cup of wine.

"I am. And I hope that he will be satisfied with this." Sparhawk returned, placing a large pouch of coins on the table.

Berit picked it up, weighed it in his hand a moment, and then moved it to a pocket inside his cloak. "I'm sure he will be" He reassured with that smile. "If not, he will pay you a visit to discuss your difference of opinion. He never fails to come to a compromise."

Sparhawk considered that, and was not surprised that the master assassin could extract any coin he wanted from an unwilling hand.

"Do you ever worry about carrying such large amounts of money about?" Sparhawk was suddenly worried about this young man on the harsh streets of the city.

"No." He grinned. "I can't remember the last time I was robbed."

"I do have another job." Sparhawk said, looking into his own cup. The wine had turned out to be not bad either.

"Looking for a little revenge? I had a feeling you might be enquiring about the Duke's health." Berit even couldn't or didn't care to hide his relish of the thought to the Assassin going after Gluvir. "You may have to wait a while, there have been quite a few potential clients approach me in the last couple of days. Almost as if most of the competition were mouldering in one of your basements."

"No nothing like that: the Queen is already handling it. She says death would be too easy on him. Besides, if we started issuing death warrants for everyone who wanted to gain a little more power there would be no-one left to rule." Not that Sparhawk hadn't thought about it. He had thought about killing the man himself, but in this case he had to concede to the wishes of both his wife and his Queen. For the sake of his marriage if nothing else.

"Then what?" Berit enquired.

"I have another task, this time for the Church instead of the Kingdom."

"That sounds like it would be completely out of his skill set, he's not much of a spiritual person."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. This goes beyond dukes and thrones and politics into the realm of gods and monsters, but I still need people around me good with a blade. He's proved his capability from what I saw and when I leave Cimmura I'd like him with me." Sparhawk knew it would be a risk, but there was something about the way that the assassin had carried out this unusual task that was unusual in itself.

"With you? Physically going somewhere with you? No. He won't go." Berit was shaking his head emphatically in denial.

"The pay will be high." Sparhawk offered.

"It doesn't matter. He isn't the sort of person who enjoys company. And I'm not sure you would enjoy his company on your journey to... wherever."

"East, we are going east. And I think he will come. I can't tell you any more right now, but pass along that if we fail half the land this side of the mountains is likely to fall into the ocean. I don't think he wants that any more than I do."

Berit was silent, frowning at that imagery. "You're serious aren't you? You want a mysterious and paranoid murderer to accompany you on a mystical quest to save the world."

"It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that." Sparhawk stood up to leave. "We will be leaving at dawn along the east gate road. I hope he joins us. I fear we will need him for what we face."


	3. Chapter 3

"Do you think he will be joining us?" Katlen asked, as they rode out of the city. They were a fine procession, not exactly co-ordinating as they mixed the various order's colours of black, green and white. The Knights Militant recognised for the need for co-operation in this matter and it was no surprise that it was Tynian, Bevier and Ulath who had been offered to support the two Pandions. Khalad bought up the rear, the young man a loyal a squire as his father had been.

"I hope so." Sparhawk replied.

"So you trust him? What did you say Berit said ' a paranoid murderer who isn't good company'. And that's from someone who knows him."

"Meeting him was your idea in the first place." Sparhawk reminded his childhood friend.

"Yes, but I didn't expect you to come up with this." A hand flap accompanied Kalten's remark.

"I know you don't like this, I know none of you really like this." Sparhawk addressed all his friends.

"I've been digging up information about the Black Brotherhood my Lord" Khalad offered. "If the truth is anything even close to the rumors then they were not nice men. He is dangerous."

"I hope he _is_ dangerous, we may need the edge. We don't have to like him, nice is subjective after all. Most people wouldn't call _me_ nice."

Sparhawk had looked for rumors himself about the Brotherhood. From what he knew no Black Brother would have taken a contract to protect someone instead of kill them. They would also never decline a contract – they had never been picky about their work like this one was.

As they approached a turn in the road a figure was seen lurking in the shadows, leaning casually against a tree, horse grazing nearby. Sparhawk and Kalten shared a look. They were expecting to meet a stranger, but this man they knew. He was more appropriately dressed for travel in sturdy browns with no outlandish neckwear.

"Berit" Sparhawk greeted him "if your employer wished to speak to us he should have just come himself. I don't have time for you to run messages."

"I'm not running messages" he replied, straightening up and pulling the horse close. "I'm coming with you."

"I'm sure you are a charming travelling companion but it's not your skills we need." Kalten objected, and the others looked on in confusion.

The young man grinned as he mounted up. "Yes it is."

"No, it's... oh." Kalten trailed off. "I was sure you were communicating with someone with that finger tapping."

"It's not my fault if you read too much into things." This time the smile reached his eyes. Sparhawk studied the boy, sitting causally amongst Church Knights as easily as he sat in a tavern. He remembered the sharp glances and constantly darting gaze. The confidence of how he spoke. The generic description Ehlana gave.

"We weren't expecting _you_ " He said, putting the pieces together.

"That is the whole point. Don't feel bad, no-one has ever guessed." The Inter... no the Assassin said, adjusting his riding gloves.

"Why all the deception, why pretend to be someone else?"

"Everyone pretends to be someone else. And I have an issue with trusting others." Berit looked down as he said this, unwilling to make eye contact, perhaps reluctant to bring up the concept of trust.

"Yes, I remember you said you weren't good around others." Sparhawk said.

Berit shrugged, unconcerned. "I know my own faults. I thought I should warn you."

"And despite all this we should trust you." Kalten eyed Berit suspiciously, and didn't balk when that scrutinizing look was turned upon him.

"You were the one that came to me." He reminded.

'You have to admit he has a point." Tynian said wryly. "Are we going, or are we going to sit in the road all day?"

"I want to know two things first and I want an honest answer." Sparhawk said, coming to a decision.

"As long as you tell me the full facts about this threat we face. I want to know everything about whatever is so important you want to bring me along." Berit countered.

"Agreed. Why that stupid cravat?"

Berit smiled at the question. "That's what you want to know? It helps me stay anonymous to have my only memorable feature one that can be removed. Two?"

"What is your name?" Sparhawk asked the boy. No man. No assassin.

"Berit. My name is Berit."

* * *

They had ridden in an awkward silence for most of the day, not quite knowing what to say to this stranger in their midst. But he hadn't tried to kill anyone so there was that. They had camped late, making the most of the daylight.

"Whose turn is it to cook?" Bevier asked as Khalad lit the fire.

"Yours" Ulath told him and Bevier sighed as he reached for the ingredients for soup.

"Now might be a good time to tell me what is going on" Berit suggested as bowls were handed round and they drew together in front of the fire. He saw Sparhawk's hesitation and warned lightly "We did have an agreement."

"Of course, but I'm not sure where to begin. How much do you know about the Three Gods?"

"A triumvirate of godly siblings that bicker amongst themselves as much as any other. Some texts say they are just different facets of the same deity, some say that they each came into being to keep the others in check. There is even one theory that two were created by an even higher power to match the original of the Three, though that is largely discredited. They disappeared at the end of an epic battle an eon or two ago and the world is better off for the lack of them."

"That's... not a bad summary." Sparhawk had looked impressed as he reeled of his knowledge, the others exchanging questioning looks.

"I have a lot of time to read" he answered the unasked questions "Besides, you never know what knowledge can come in useful."

"We don't know their origins." Sparhawk agreed, wondering what else a master assassin would do in his spare time, or what use he thought he would have for ancient theology. The others were content for him to do the talking and to eat their soup. "We do know their intent and know that it won't be pleasant for anyone living in this world. Fire and brimstone won't even come close to describing what they will unleash if bought back. Unfortunately there is a severely misinformed group of people that think that if they bring the Three back from... whatever realm they are currently abiding in they will be rewarded with eternal life and riches."

"Which they will enjoy in this desolate world with all life in ruins?" Berit queried.

"I didn't say they were smart. There is a ceremony, that if they complete at midsummer, will release the Three. Luckily however we know of a spell that will, shall we say close the door permanently on them." Sparhawk spooned up some of his own food – no bad, if a little salty.

"So you do your thing before they do their thing and everything stays as it is?" Berit summarised, clearly unhappy with the situation. So was everyone else, hence why they were out here instead of at home. "And you think you need me because... why? I told you that I can't really do anything about mystical or magical. My skills are much more ordinary."

"I wouldn't say precisely ordinary. We know of the spell, but don't know where it is. We know there is a map, though it will likely be hard to reach and heavily guarded."

"Which you think I will be able to get to anyway. Despite the fact that I am not a thief."

Sparhawk nodded at that. "Getting into a room is surely the same, no matter what you do once in there."

The fire crackled as Berit pondered. He stood, and paced away from the fire and back again.

"Sounds difficult. Sounds dangerous. Sounds like the fate of thousands of people rest in the hand of a small band of adventurous."

"Welcome to my life, you don't have to sound so sarcastic about it though." Kalten said, picking up on Berit's unexpectedly dry sense of humour.

Berit chuckled and held his hands up. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. This is just a strange turn of events."

"Strange for us all, I assure you."

Berit continued to pace, backwards and forwards, towards light and then facing darkness. He would pause at each end before turning, the fire casting strange shadows across his features. It was at one of these pauses – far from the fire – that he moved with a sudden swiftness, hand darting into a nearby bush. He pulled out a struggling form and stilled it with the warning of cold steel against its throat.

Berit looked at what he had caught with some surprise, though no more than the others did.

"Talen! What the hell are you doing here?" Khalad was the first on his feet to admonish the boy.

"You know him?" Berit asked, putting away his knife but keeping hold of the boy's collar.

"I didn't want to be left behind. You might need me. Let go!" This last was addressed to the confused Berit. "Besides, learning reading is still boring, no matter how much better I get at it."

Sparhawk sighed, somehow unsurprised at this latest complication. "This is Talen" he introduced. "Khalad's brother. He's a pain but smart enough to know that we are not about to lose more time to escort him back to the Cimmura. Nor can we let him go back alone. So it looks like he is coming with us."

Talen grinned in triumph and Berit let him go saying "Do you know he's a pick pocket? A good one, I hardly felt him."

This time Khalad sighed. "Sorry. We aim to make him a reformed pick pocket but to be honest I don't know how that's going at the moment. Give whatever it is back." He instructed his brother.

"I don't know what you mean." Talen protested, but all attempts at innocence were undone by the glare he gave Berit, clearly not happy at being spotted.

Khalad just raised a warning eyebrow.

"Fine. He didn't have anything interesting anyway." Talen reluctantly handed over a small handful into Berit's waiting hand. Sparhawk couldn't see clearly what was there: something that looked like a stone, a small paper packet and some other items. Considering whose pockets they came from maybe it was best not to know.

"Don't try that again." Berit warned. "You might not like what you find. So even though you know a thief you still need me?"

"He's just a boy. This is far too dangerous for him, he wasn't even meant to be here. And he's a good pick pocket but..." Sparhawk hesitated, not sure how to say it without being too insulting.

Talen said it instead "I stick to pockets, not breaking and entering."

"Sure, sure why not." Berit put one hand to his forehead, no doubt wondering what sort of people he had become involved with. "So where do we find this map?"


	4. Chapter 4

The days settled into an easy routine between the eight travellers. They ate breakfast in the saddle after striking camp early. The rested the horses while they ate a cold meal at midday and pushed as late into the evening as they could. Talen would start the fire while the others made sure the camp was secure, gathered firewood or collected water.

They didn't talk about what they faced any more – there was no need to discuss what they stood to lose or to win. They did discuss the map though: told Berit every rumour they had heard, every scrap of information they had gathered. He questioned them about the fortress it was kept in, the city in which that fortress stood. The city-state of Phada was on the boundaries of what was considered civilisation this side of the mountains and things worked a little differently there. Neither the Church or her Knights had a stronghold and trade with the other nations was not frequent either. Berit wanted to know everything they knew or thought they knew. When asked what his plan was he would just reply "Beyond 'get this map for you' I don't have one yet. You will know when I do though."

Frequently, when he was out of earshot, the knights would discuss their new associate.

"There's no such thing as the Black Brotherhood." Ulath insisted on the third evening.

"Not any more maybe" Khalad disagreed. "But there used to be. There's too many stories for there to be nothing at all behind them."

"I've heard all kindsa things." Talen piped up from where he was carefully setting out a ring of stones that would mark the boundary of the campfire. "The older thieves said they occasionally met one on the roof tops. If you stayed out of their way then they'd let you live. If not, you would be lucky to be found."

"That was probably just one mercenary over exaggerating to raise his price." Ulath objected.

"Then why were there so many stories about them?"

"You said were? There aren't any more. The mercenary probably moved on. Or died. And that was years ago anyway." Ulath suggested.

"I heard that they killed each other in a fight over money." Khalad suggested.

"I heard that the ghosts of all the dead rose up against them." Talen said.

It was only then that they noticed the figure watching them, having moved silently despite the uneven ground. The fact that Berit was holding an armful of firewood made his intense gaze no less troubling. They all turned to face him and Ulath's shoulders tightened against the threat of a young man holding a bundle of sticks. At that moment they could believe that they had a trained assassin in their midst, so calculating were his eyes.

Then his face softened – slightly – and he gave a small smile, offering "I heard that their deeds were so evil they solidified into a monster that was too fearsome for them to stand against."

He moved forward, and set his bundle of firewood down for Talen to use. "Though the man who told me that was drunk. But it's probably just as accurate as all those other stories. There is no such thing as the Black Brotherhood. I would know. Whose turn to cook is it?"

"Mine" Ulath volunteered quickly, not quick enough for his look of apprehension to go unnoticed.

"Fine. I cook good stew but if you are sure." Berit didn't say that if he had wanted to kill them they would be dead by now. He didn't have to and the slight roll of Khalad's eyes told all that he at least realised it.

* * *

Khalad had been put in charge of finding them fresh meat – travelling rations got tiring very pretty quickly and produced much moaning. He would set traps for rabbits of spend some time in the forest with his bow. Sometime he came back with a catch and sometimes he didn't.

When he was successful he would sit on the outskirts of their camp to clean the animals, and for two nights running had caught Berit watching him as he worked. Tired of the observation he gestured the other man over.

"If you are going to watch you might as well help" he said, holding up one of the three rabbits that would be todays meal.

"I've never skinned a rabbit before." Berit replied.

"But I've seen you see me do it. You don't need me to teach you how to use a knife do you?" That was met with a snort from Berit, taking the comment with the humour it was intended, as he took the offered game.

Berit drew a knife – Khalad hadn't seen this one before and wondered how many he was carrying - and started work.

"Not a country lad then?" Khalad asked, making conversation.

Berit was moving was sure, quick strokes which didn't stop as he replied "No. I have lived in the city for most of my life. I haven't travelled much either. No fresh kill over campfires for me."

"Never want to go on a grand adventure like this one? Smart. It's mostly being cold and saddle sore."

"I... never had the opportunity when I was younger. I was kept... I kept close by... the others. More lately... I suppose it's difficult to leave somewhere you are comfortable."

As far as Khalad knew, this was the first time that Berit had spoken of anything personal, any solid facts about his past. Was that because he was trying to keep his aura of mystery, or just because no-one had asked? It was Khalad's turn to study his companion, and he tried to do it without any preconceptions.

Without having to be taught Berit was completing his task well, the animal more than half done, so he could pick up new skills quickly. He was smart and well read, unusual for anyone not born in a manor house. He had shown humour and discretion and had been trusted with the Queens' safety. He was very reserved but Khalad didn't think those walls were impenetrable, and he wanted to see what was beyond them. Mostly he was struck by how young he truly looked. When he was doing his stern Assassin thing Khalad would have said he looked thirty. But now, relaxed yet concentrating Berit looked like he was nearer twenty, nearer his own age. Maybe Khalad was even older!

"My father owned sheep." Berit volunteered suddenly. "He was going to teach me to shear." His hands stopped working. "I'd forgotten that." He spoke to himself.

"Why didn't he?" Khalad asked cautiously.

"He died." Berit's tone was sad and angry and Khalad regretted asking as much for himself as for the other for he felt an echo of his own feelings.

"My father died recently" he offered.

Berit looked him in the eye and gave a nod of understanding before bending his head again to gutting the rabbit. They worked on in a companiable silence built upon a shared grief


	5. Chapter 5

The city of Phada showed clearly the difference between here and the more prosperous nations to the west – less soaring columns and more squat defensives. Here there was no opportunity to forget the damage an advancing army could do and aesthetics were sacrificed for practicality.

They had taken several rooms in an average looking inn, trying to keep beneath the radar of the local militia - another difference here. Berit had spent almost no time there in the previous day. He had said that he needed to gather information, find out everything he could about the map that it was his job to steal.

The rest spent the time either exploring the small markets or drinking in the tap room, so it was an unlikely chance that they were all present in the small dining room they were also renting when Berit returned.

They had seen him cautious. They had seen him closed. They had seen him smiling as the Intermediary and even seen an echo of that on the road in the last few days.

What they hadn't seen was Berit angry. There had been some doubt in the company's mind about the young man's capability to be the Assassin of renown. But this man they could believe was. He was almost vibrating with anger as he slammed the door to the dining room closed. Berit strode across the room, dragging Sparhawk up from the chair he had been sitting in. The Knight tried to get in a blow, to try and release the hand that had him by the throat, but it was easily blocked. Berit flung Sparhawk against the fall and held him there, despite the older man's greater weight.

"Why didn't you tell me." He hissed, eyes flashing. The others were rising, approaching the two men who were locked together but that wasn't fazing Berit – he paid no attention to the five men approaching him.

"Why didn't I tell you what?" Sparhawk gasped out, feeling in his gut just how easily Berit could kill him.

"That it would be impossible to steal this damn map. You are lucky I found out before I got in there."

"You can't steal it?" If Berit couldn't get the map, Sparhawk couldn't get the spell and then...

Berit must have read the dismay on his face, been able to somehow see Sparhawk's heart clench.

"You... You really don't know?" Sparhawk was studied further. "You've come all this way and... " Berit shook his head and stepped back, releasing his hold. Once he was back at a reassuring distance he sheathed a knife that no-one had even seen him draw.

Berit poured himself a cup of water from a flagon that had been sitting on the table, for all the world as if he had not nearly killed one of his companions.

"The map isn't _in_ the audience chamber of the governors palace like you told me, it's _part of it._ What you are looking for is a mural that runs all the way around the wall at about waist height, only a hand wide. It's made of gold and jewels, and even inlaid with rare wood at some points. There is no way anyone is stealing that."

That stunned Sparhawk and was a major set back. But at least the map existed even if it wasn't quite what he expected.

"I still need to see it. You need to get me in there so I can have time to study it." Sparhawk moved to sit next to Berit, despite the warning looks he was getting from Ulath and Kalten.

"It's not that simple." Berit said, eyes on his cup.

"Make it that simple." Sparhawk insisted.

Berit drummed his fingers on the table top, staring across the room. "How well can you climb?"

"Not particularly." Sparhawk admitted

"Hmm. Can you hold your breath for three minutes?"

"I doubt it."

"Figured. I'm sorry about that by the way." He gestured towards the wall Sparhawk had recently been so closely acquainted with. "As I said, I have some issues with trust. I can get a bit twitchy." He looked around the room, meeting the eyes looking towards him. The other faces whore expressions ranging from angry (Kalten) scared (Talen) and sad (Khalad) Why would Khalad look so sad? "One of the many reasons I keep to myself."

He closed his eyes tight and Sparhawk was struck by the difference between the seething rage he had seen a few moments before – the ache around his neck testament to that – and this picture of a man trying to keep a hold on himself. How had such a young man got into that state? And how unstable was he really?

Eyes still closed the assassin in their midst said "I can get you in. It will take three days, but I can get you in."


	6. Chapter 6

A lot of arguments took place in those three days, about trusting the wrong people. About the risk of a knife in the dark or poison in the food. They were wise enough to keep those arguments for when Berit was out, but he picked up on the atmosphere. It was hard not to notice the conversation stopping when he walked into a room, or the hard glances he was given, or the fact that Ulath and Kalten in particular were now never unarmed.

Berit certainly agreed that he deserved his suspicion and was only surprised that it had not come sooner. Berit knew he was not to be trusted. He wasn't planning on betraying them or anything that crass – he liked living in the world after all, this was too important – but he was still not to be trusted. Berit almost felt guilty that he had made them believe otherwise, even for a second

So he kept out of the way as far as he could, making his plans and getting a few key supplies, until the day came.

He approached Sparhawk where they had once again gathered in their dining room.

"It's time" he told him. He handed over a cloak and a bag. "Put this on bring this with you. You will have to take your chainmail off first though."

"Why?" Kalten demanded, protective of his friend.

"Because it's too noisy. We are trying to go unnoticed. And it's too heavy. You might have to run." He addressed that to Sparhawk.

"While going unnoticed?" Sparhawk asked, though he was already moving to do as instructed.

"Well, yes. But plans can change and it never hurts to be prepared." He tried a smile, but Berit knew it didn't reach his eyes - it was hard to be that genuine these days. Should he tell them that he had three plans for entry and five to get out depending on what had changed in the last few hours? No. They probably wouldn't want to hear that.

All credit to him Sparhawk was ready quickly and Berit gestured for him to follow. Before he could leave however he found the way blocked by Ulath and Kalten, Tynian and Bevier standing behind him. Khalad was still sitting at the table, Talen beside him. Protecting his brother from him no doubt. As it should be.

"I want you to understand something." Kalten instructed, fury and fear mixed in his face. "For some reason my stupid friend here thinks you can be trusted to get him into and out of there safely. I advise that you do just that. I don't care what brotherhood you may or may not have belonged to you, but he is _my_ brother and we expect to see him again."

"You will. If we leave now." Berit reassured. He had no need to think to assess how much of a threat they were, how close they were to drawing weapons: all that came naturally now. He wished it didn't.

Kalten and Ulath moved apart just enough for him to move past them and into the city beyond. He tried not to listen to any words they spoke to Sparhawk before he followed: he was sure that it was nothing complimentary and nothing he would disagree with.

He guided Sparhawk through the streets. Dusk was settling in so shops were closing and taverns opening, travellers hurrying into shelter and revellers into their cups. Amongst the tide of the shifting city the two men went unnoticed as they approached a plaza that butted against the fortress. It was a long, squat building, mostly five floors or less, but it dwarfed the two story buildings surrounding it. This was itself overshadowed by the immense tower that stood at the centre, hundreds of feet tall.

With a hand to his arm, Berit bought Sparhawk to a stop, and bought his attention to a small gate in the wall.

"You need to make your way over there, slowly as if you were a bit drunk and looking for somewhere out of the wind. Be no more than ten paces from it. When the third watch bell rings count two hundred heart beats and I will open the gate for you."

Sparhawk was taking his instructions in, he could tell, looking about the plaza trying to spot any guards.

"And how are you getting to the other side of the gate?" He asked.

Berit nodded towards the walls "I'm climbing." He said.

"Seriously?"

Berit smiled, easier this time. "Seriously. It will be easy." Maybe not exactly easy. He was a good climber, he had to be, but he had never climbed buildings made of this sort of rock before. It was too late to change the plan now though, this would have to be the way in. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

* * *

Sparhawk spent a cold and boring couple of hours huddled against the wall. The cloak that Berit had given him blended right in to the local fashion so he was just another worker who had over indulged. He had taken a peak into the bag and found several lengths of rope. Greased rope. What use was greased rope?

He rested his head back and looked up to the stars. He was a long way from home and he would have to travel further before he turned around. There was risk here: following an assassin into danger. But the risk was greater to all if he didn't.

Kalten and Ulath in particular disagreed and would have happily tied Berit up and left him in the basement. If they even could. Sparhawk would admit to himself that he had been scared when Berit had attacked, but he could also see that his anger had been justified. Walking into a situation with bad information could be a death trap for any soldier.

Bells rang out – sound echoing across a city mostly asleep – and Sparhawk started to count to the beat of his heart. At two hundred he heard a lock turn and a bar lift: the door to his side swung open slightly.

Pulling himself stiffly to his feet – he really was too old for sitting about in the cold – Sparhawk pushed the door open just enough to step through, and found Berit waiting for him.

"Did you have any trouble?" He asked the younger man.

"No, all went smoothly. There are a few guards that will have a headache in the morning and a couple might be in trouble for missing the start of their shift, but so far at least they don't know we are here."

Sparhawk was trying to keep judgement from his face, but he must have had some sort of expression as Berit continued "I'm not going to kill anyone for just doing their job. Not if I don't have to. I don't shed blood for the sake of it. Now follow me. We are not going to run but neither are we going to sneak. We walk as if this were our own home."

Sparhawk did as he was told, and they strode side by side down long stark corridors. He walked with an assassin who didn't want to kill. He knew there was something interesting about him.

Berit was in charge of their route though Sparhawk could see no pattern in it. They ducked down side corridors, climbed two flights of stairs and at one point he thought they even doubled back.

At last the torch lined passageway opened out and they entered the main audience chamber. It was one of the grandest rooms into the entire city - tall columns and drapes that stretched the height of ten men. But more importantly was the golden boarder that stretched around the entire room, exactly as Berit had described it. Sparhawk darted to the nearest part to study. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the detail and admiring the craftmanship.

"You have about thirty minutes before my efforts to get us in start to become noticed. More if we are lucky but lets not rely on luck shall we?" Berit suggested, glancing round at the vast room.

Sparhawk nodded in understanding and got to work. He didn't quite know what he was looking for, but was sure he would know it when he saw it. He paced down the length of the room, dodging around the columns and peering around furniture. He had travelled almost two thirds of the way around the room when something caught his eye. Amongst the decorative flora and fauna and geometric patterns there was a striking symbol, and ancient pictograph that Sparhawk knew meant 'secrets'. Or maybe 'revelations'. This was it.

He looked at the relief, taking in the details. He saw from the corner of his eye Berit peering through a doorway and knew his time was short. This was confirmed when the other said "We need to go soon."

"Five minutes, I need five minutes." He said and Berit darted through the doorway without another word. Sparhawk didn't spare any thoughts as to what he was about, instead concentrating on committing the design to memory. All to quickly Berit had returned and was saying "We are going now or we are not going at all."

Sparhawk let himself be dragged away, but not to the way they had come. Instead they passed through what must have been a servants corridor that carried them in a tight spiral upwards and upwards and upwards till Sparhawk felt dizzy.

Once they stopped climbing Berit led him to what looked to be some sort of clerical room, filled with papers and ink, and Sparhawk was able to confirm that they were now in fact high in the central tower.

"I can't help but notice" he said "that we have actually moved further away from our exit."

Berit gave him a look that flited between amusement and exasperation and he was leaning out of the window what overlooked the city. "That way will be blocked by now. I could only get it clear for a short while. Do you still have that bag?"

"I hope you are not intending that we climb down on this thing." He said, handing it over.

"Not exactly." Berit pulled the rope from the bag, and took out several pieces of wood from a similar one he had slung on his back. In swift movements he connected the pieces together and Sparhawk was surprised to see it formed a very large crossbow.

"It's only one shot I'm afraid, so it's not really worth it in a fight. It is useful for this however." Berit slipped a heavy looking bolt in, that he attached one end of Sparhawk's rope to. Sighting carefully out the window he let the bolt fly. It travelled straight and true and wedged itself into the wall of a building across the street.

Berit gave a tug on it and secured the other end, and then handed Sparhawk a leather strap.

"I hope you are not suggesting what I think." He said, eyeing the slick rope, the leather and the other man's grin.

"Well you said you couldn't climb or hold your breath, so this is the other option." He said, putting the now empty bag back over his shoulder.

Sparhawk peered at the rope that was bridging the two buildings. "After you."

"No after you." Berit disagreed. "I know better than to return to the inn having left you alone up here when guardsmen burst through that door, or when the rope drops because it can only carry one persons weight, or someone notices this rope and starts shooting at it, or ..."

"Ok, I get it." Sparhawk took a breath, held on tight to the strap that he had slung across the rope, braced himself, and jumped.

The rope caught his fall, the arrow held and Sparhawk slid with alarming speed down, out of the fortress. The other building reared up much quicker than expected and Sparhawk found himself tumbling to a stop on the roof top, being thankful that he had not broken bones from the impact. He rolled put the way just in time to avoid being stomped on as Berit joined him, landing with slightly more grace but no less force.

"Follow me" the young man was quickly up, cutting the rope to let it swing gently back across the gap, before heading away. He took Sparhawk on a roundabout journey across the roof tops, though didn't head straight back to the inn.

At one point he stopped, sat against a wall and gestured for Sparhawk to join him. "We will rest here for the next couple of hours. They will be looking for intruders soon if they are not already, but when the sun comes up there will be enough people on the streets that we can blend in and make our way back to your friends."

"So it was as simple as that then" Sparhawk said, sitting.

"Sure, if you call that simple. I would call it rushed and chaotic, but that's just my opinion." Berit clearly had some professional standards that he didn't think had been met on this occasion.

Sparhawk once again looked to the sky. He was one step closer. And apparently he had some time to kill so he asked:

"Why is the Duke still alive? I've seen how much you wanted us to send, well... _you_ , after him and I can't think for a moment anyone could stop you if you decided to do it, so why haven't you."

Berit took so long to reply that he almost thought he wasn't going to.

"Have you ever been able to pinpoint a moment, just one moment, that shaped your whole life. Have you ever thought how one decision made by someone else has completely shifted your life from what it might have been?" Berit mused.

Sparhawk considered his ancestor and the battle that forged generations of links between his and the royal family. How different might his life had been if that had happened differently?

"Not before, but I think I see what you mean." He admitted.

"The Duke is that for me. He made one decision, wanted something, took it. If he hadn't my life would have been very different. Everything I am now, everything I've ever done is because of him." Berit kept his voice low so it didn't carry through the still night, but it was still filled with more emotion that Sparhawk had previously seen from him: anger and loss and wistfulness all at once.

"And you're still not going to do anything about it?" Sparhawk turned to look at his young companion.

"I've never had the courage and I doubt I will ever have. Because if I kill him then I can no longer blame him. Instead it will all be down to me." Berit didn't return the look, instead studying his surroundings, no doubt on the look out for danger.

A silence fell between them that Sparhawk broke by saying "Just to be clear I've never lied to you. And I wouldn't lie about the job, it's too important to hide the facts. I just wanted it clear that there will be no reason for another... outburst like before. And I'll make sure the others keep to that too."

Berit just nodded absently. There was probably not much more to say about that.

"You don't have to keep doing this you know, the whole knife for hire thing."

Berit gave him a blank look "What?"

"All I'm saying is there are other careers that could use your skills. Ones that are a bit less... that you might enjoy more anyway."

"And who says I don't enjoy my life?" Berit snapped back, defensive.

"Well, I don't think you'd be out here doing this if you did." Sparhawk put simply. "And you would have killed men in there instead of … whatever else you got up to."

Tendrils of dawn crept through the clouds, turning the darkness murky with light. Sparhawk fidgeted slightly, legs getting cold, numb and cramping. This time it was Berit who broke the silence.

"You fight where the Church tells you yes? Do you believe in the enemy they tell you to face?" He had turned, no longer still as a statue. His young face was so intent once again it was unnerving. How did he manage to look like he was picking apart someone's insides?

"I do. I fight the good fight" Sparhawk affirmed.

"What would you do if one day you found out that you were on the wrong side? What would you do the day you found out that the good fight wasn't what you thought it was?" Berit's voice at a whisper and his eyes urgent.

Sparhawk thought about it: he didn't know where this was going but it was obviously important. "I suppose I'd fight twice as hard to make up for it."

"Even if you had to turn and face those you once called brother?"

"I think that might tear me to shreds. But it wouldn't change the fact that something needed doing. I don't think I could put my sword down knowing that I had been wrong. There would be a lot to make up for and fight that still needed winning. I'd still fight the good fight – just in the opposite direction I suppose."

"And what if there is no 'good' side? What if it is just wrong all the way around." Now Berit had his eyes closed, whether to avoid looking Sparhawk in the eye or to try and hide some other sight he didn't know.

"Then I suppose I would go out and find one. Find another cause. Something else I could believe in."

There were no more questions and it was not long before the sounds of morning life started to drift up to them. Tradesman setting up, bakers calling out their wares fresh from the oven. It pulled Berit out of his deep thoughts as he stood, and held out a hand to Sparhawk to help him up.

"We should go. I could use some breakfast and I'm sure the others are keen to see this map."


	7. Chapter 7

Sparhawk didn't waste any time sharing the information he had gained, sketching it from memory and together they all pored over maps to match the imagery with something they could recognise. Almost all, as Berit sat back from the table, mug of mulled wine to warm him despite the early hour. He had done his part and now it was up to the Church Knights to decipher their next step. Bringing Sparhawk back safely had not earned him any smiles but nor had it earned him any blows so he was content to leave it at that. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be travelling further with them and he wasn't sure if he would be welcome to.

He watched them lazily as they worked together – writing comments on one piece of parchment, pointing something out to another. He had never seen a group of people work together in such a way since... well never. _They_ had never worked together like this. They tolerated each other's prescience at best, seeing everyone else as competition. They wouldn't co-operate if their lives depended on it. They _hadn't_ co-operated when their lives depended on it, when he had...

He drowned the remains of the cup to drown out that particular set of memories, and stood to leave the room.

They all spared him a glance but it was only Khalad who approached him.

"I'm going to get a few hours sleep" he told the squire to forestall any other questions. There might even be some truth in it. Eventually.

Khalad nodded "Would you like me to bring you anything to eat?" He offered with sincerity.

"I can find the kitchen if I need to" he assured. "Besides I think you better keep an eye on your Lord. He did a not bad job keeping up with me considering his advancing years but he's been up all night too."

That caused Khalad to first look dreadfully offended and then he broke into a broad grin at the joke, and Berit answered with one of his own before seeking some privacy.

* * *

He had spent several hours lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, not even pretending to sleep anymore when a knock came on the door. He called for the polite knocker to come it and sat up in greeting to Kalten.

"We know where we are going." He said without preamble. "And Sparhawk would like you to come with us for the next leg."

"And you?" Berit asked, swinging his legs off the bed and gesturing for Kalten to sit. The blond man didn't acknowledge that obviously preferring not to get to close, crossing his arms resolutely across his chest. Kalten was one of the more sensible men that Berit had met.

"You did what you promised but I'm not sure that's enough. I haven't made a secret of my thoughts on you being here but what really puzzles me is why you aren't offended by that."

"I like honesty Kalten. I like knowing what is expected of me and why. I like knowing what others think of me, even if it isn't complementary."

"Sparhawk said you had a little chat on the roof. Have you ever found yourself on the wrong side?" Berit hadn't exactly though that conversation was private though he also hadn't thought Sparhawk would care about it enough to repeat it. Maybe it had been a mistake. These Church Knights were a strange lot.

Kalten was waiting for an answer, arms still crossed. Berit was a lot of things – gods he knew that! - but he wasn't a hypocrite so he answered honestly. "Yes. For almost as long as I can remember."

Kalten nodded "I like honesty too. So I'll tell you I did some digging before we left. The Black Brotherhood was a very real thing – an organisation of the most highly skilled assassins found this side of the mountains. It was said that if you were within arms reach of a Brother you were alive only due to their discretion so skilled they were in hand to hand. And it turns out that the Brotherhood was destroyed – all killed in their lair six years ago. I don't think it was ghosts or monsters – probably a rival gang. Shortly afterwards you began to advertise for work through the Intermediary. The word on the street was that you were someone making the most of lack of competition. Certainly no-one thought you were this young, and no matter how much raw talent you have, to gain the reputation you have takes a great deal of training. So what I think happened is that you were an assassin in training, when whoever decided to strike the Brotherhood attacked. You survived, escaped somehow and set up in the trade. That would have been when you were, what, eighteen?"

"No. I wasn't eighteen six years ago for a start." Berit said, picking the easy truth to tell without starting a cascade of questions that he would not want to answer.

"Sparhawk says you didn't kill anyone tonight." Khalad's changedtopic and Berit hoped that he evasion had gone unnoticed.

"No, a few bruises at best." He said.

Kalten uncrossed his arms and turned to leave the room. "Good job." He threw over his shoulder as he left.


	8. Chapter 8

It was more than a weeks ride from Phada to the location that Sparhawk had deciphered from the strange wall-map. It passed mostly without incident but wasn't without it's moments of excitement.

The only sounds around a campfire in the deep of the night should have been the crackle of flames and the soft movement of wind through trees. Instead the calm was disturbed by the rustle of one of their number in a disturbed sleep. Berit was murmuring to himself, limbs twitching in response to whatever he was seeing. He wasn't loud enough to wake the sleeping knights, but had caught the attention of Khalad was keeping the watch and his brother who should have been asleep but wasn't.

It had been going on for little more than an hour: long enough to me more than a casual bad dream and his movement were growing. Getting more frantic, more violent. It was Talen who approached the tossing and turning Berit, intending to wake him from whatever nightmare gripped him. He knelt beside Berit and reached a hand out to shake his shoulder.

But the hand never touched him. It got within a couple of inches but instead Talen found his hand grasped tight and a knife at his throat. Khalad tensed from across the fire, instincts screaming at him to protect his little brother, however he knew that it wouldn't be that simple. Any man could be startled when he was suddenly woken and he wouldn't risk Talen like that.

"Berit." Talen gasped, eyes wide. "You... you having a bad dream... I just wanted to wake you."

Berit's stare was intense, face still, jaw tense. "It wasn't exactly a dream" he said softly. Absently, Barely aware of anyone else there. "I haven't slept listening to the sound of anyone else breathing since..." He trailed off.

Khalad could feel the shape of Berit's past and he didn't like where his thoughts were leading. There was something big there, something big enough to disturb the sleep of a man who was spoken of in hushed whispers. Khalad could see the muscles in Berit's arms clenching, stopping himself from cutting the Talen's throat. Where did those instincts to strike out, strike first, come from? And how deep where they really entrenched?

Berit closed his eyes briefly and shook his head to chase away the last vestiges of sleep. When he opened them again he was more focused and aware, able to take in Talen leaning over him and the position of his own hands.

Khalad felt some relief as Berit released Talen's hand, and sheathed his knife. Had he been sleeping with that in his hand or had he managed to draw it while still asleep?

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He addressed both of them.

"Ummm... that's ok? I mean, I would prefer not to have a knife to my throat, but at least I know you'll never cut my head off by accident." Talen said, sparing a quick glance at his brother to assure that yes, he was ok.

Berit grinned, amused by the boy's resilience. "Oh, yes, you'll know if I mean it. Go back to sleep. I'll take the watch if you like."

"Or we can share it if you like." Khalad countered. "I'm not going to ask what you were dreaming about, but no man should sit alone after dreams that shake him like that."

Berit didn't answer what haunted him, but he didn't deny that he had ghosts either. He sat up, pulled his cloak round his shoulders and dug through the pockets. He threw a paper wrapped parcel at both Talen and Khalad, who caught them deftly.

"Nothing dangerous." He said opening his own and popping the contents in his mouth. "They're considered a delicacy in Phada."

Khalad ate his – it was solid like a boiled sweat but also managed to be sour. Very sour and he screwed his face up in reaction.

"They can be a bit of an acquired taste though." Berit smiled.

"I like it!" Talen exclaimed and Khalad marveled at his lack of taste buds.

"That reminds me of a story that my mother used to tell. There once was a boy who would eat anything..." Dawn came quickly when the time was spent trading stories with friends.


	9. Chapter 9

Two days from their destination they passed though good farmland, low and rolling. It would have grown a lot of crops if it hadn't been hit by Locusts a few years ago and a drought the year after. There was no way for anyone to make a living here any more so each building they passed was abandoned – paths growing over, barns collapsing, walls crumbling.

They were looking to seek shelter in one of the better buildings for the night when a keening filled the air. The Knights were instantly alert, recognising the sound of a pack of Locusts when they heard it.

"Spread out!" Sparhawk yelled and the others did as he commanded. Kalten and Ulath drew swords, while Sparhawk, Tynian and Bevier did not.

"What is that?" Khalad asked, also pulling his short sword.

"Locusts" Tynian replied. "Like the insect but as tall as a man and so much meaner. They have tough armor so the best way to take them out is by magic."

And as quickly as that the creatures were among them. They had stalked close before they attacked Sparhawk realised as he lay sprawled in the dust, knocked aside by ones wings. He tried to stand to start a spell but his body wouldn't respond, winded. He could feel magic charging in the air that meant his friends were busy and unable to help him. One Locust approached him, clawed arm raised to disembowel. His death was at hand.

And then it wasn't. The monstrous arm was swiped back by a thin blade with grace and skill and _speed._ Not one of the other knights, no it was Berit.

And it wasn't one blade, he was using two matched swords about an arm length long. They looked light and didn't have the reach of a broadsword. Still, he was managing to push the creature back, which gave Sparhawk time to rise and start a spell. The monster gave a fierce growl and punched Berit, sending him flying further than Sparhawk had, and straight through the door of the farm house. The closed door, which flew apart in a crash of splinters.

Sparhawk had been bought enough time though – he released the spell which turned the Locust into a pile of goo just as his friends rounded, having destroyed their own enemies.

He didn't wait, going straight to his fallen companion, and was relieved to see Berit picking himself from the rotten wreckage, if slightly unsteadily and with blood on his back.

"Out of interest, did you have a plan for fighting a giant insect with an impenetrable skin?" Sparhawk reached out a hand and steadied the other.

"Not die. Find a way to kill it. Or wait for you to kill it." Berit replied, straightening and wincing.

"Steel won't kill them you know."

"Good to know, but it was worth a try. Everything dies eventually."

* * *

"Sit down and let me look at that shoulder" Khalad instructed, while the knights were still poking at the Locust goop. Berit made no move to remove his shirt.

"I don't know how you do this in the city and I don't really care, but you have a large splinter of wood sticking out your shoulder which needs to be removed and stitched. Now I know they taught you some fancy things in the Black Brotherhood but I doubt they taught you how to stich your own spine." That bought Berit's attention back to the squire.

He stilled, cut out the distractions to focus on the man in front of him. "There is no such thing as the Black Brotherhood" he said, and internally cursed himself at rising to the bait.

"Maybe not these days" Khalad replied, crossing his arms against his chest, thumbs tucked into armpits. Khalad let the silence linger, hoping Berit would fill it.

"And if there had been, why would it matter?" He reluctantly did.

"Honesty? I don't think it does. We're soldiers, dealing in death is not strange to us. And I've seen the Intermediary and the Assassin – you're wearing his face right now – but I think the real Berit is different to both of those people and he believes in protecting people. You wouldn't have taken that first job otherwise. You wouldn't be here. You wouldn't have put yourself in that position today. But is seems important to you."

Berit didn't change his expression. It was the one he wore when he was assessing danger.

 _This man believes I am a ruthless killer, and he stands in front of me unarmed. And he is wrong. I'm so much worse._

"Ok, don't talk to me, but at least let me get that splinter out of you." Khalad gestured to a nearby rock and hefted a pack that he had placed at his feet.

The injury _was_ causing some piercing pain and having Khalad tend to it would present a whole other set of issues, but he was right, there was no alternative out here.

Berit made himself relax, nodded and moved to sit untucking his shirt from his breeches. Khalad lifted Berit's shirt to get a better look at the wound and stopped before it was even halfway up. He slowly raised the shirt the rest of the way. Berit didn't look at his back very often any more, not now it was long healed. Or as healed as it would ever be. He didn't need to see it - he needed no help remembering each belt mark, each bite of the whip, each burn and blade they had used as punishment, but could imagine seeing the network of scars for the first time.

"This is going to sting." Was the only thing that Khalad said, his tone even but with an undercurrent of pity that made shame rear it's head in Berit's chest. Khalad reached down and poured a small amount of liquid from a canister across the fresh wound. It did sting and burn and freeze at the same time, and Berit let out a hiss. He felt a tug as Khalad pulled the offending piece of doorway free and then put pressure on the now open wound.

They sat in silence for almost ten minutes, Kurik controlling the bleeding and Berit controlling his instincts to gut the enemy at his back. _Not an enemy_ he had to remind himself.

Eventually Khald said "I'm going to sew it up now, it wasn't too deep. Do you want something for the pain?"

No-one has asked him that before. "Errr, no, no.. Thank you."

"Then hold still" Khalad worked quickly, clearly experienced at sewing up others and was soon done, lowering the shirt. "Keep it clean, and I'll check it tomorrow."

Khalad moved from behind Berit, and the younger men felt himself relax a little, despite the stiches now pulling against his skin. "Thank you."

"It must be difficult to trust people, but please remember Berit, not all men are the same." With that Khalad picked up his supplies and left Berit with his thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10

Dusk on the eleventh day found the travellers at the mouth of a wide cave dark with foreboding: five knights, a squire, a pickpocket and an assassin. It didn't look any different to any of the other caves that were littered about the craggy landscape but from the information they had this was the right one – this was the location of the spell.

"Talen, you stay with the horses. And when I say stay, I mean it." Sparhawk eyed the young thief, who would usually take any opportunity to treat an instruction as a suggestion.

"You'd have to drag me in there." Talen muttered, already moving to hobble the horses.

"Everyone else with me" and he strode into the darkness with a confidence he did not feel.

The cave twisted not far from the entrance cutting the daylight off quickly. As their eye adjusted they caught a gentle illumination from the rock itself: enough so they didn't trip but not so much to feel comfortable. They shared a glance and continued onwards.

The air got cooler, stiller as they moved further underground, the only sound the echo of boots on stone. They travelled for maybe an hour in the curving corridor before it at last opened out into a vast chamber. It was a natural cavern that reached up much higher than Sparhawk thought was possible, and was at least half a mile wide. The walls were covered in alcoves, several feet across. In each alcove was a large jar, some of which glowed with a golden light.

The party were so distracted by that they took a moment to notice the creature in the middle of the room. It was mostly scales, but with the stubs of feathers in some places, too many limbs that were jointed in the wrong places and a head that was too small for it's body. It had been – for wont of a better description – curled up in front of the nearby alcoves, and now it unwound itself to face them.

"Visitors. Seekers. I have not had anyone to trade with for so long." It's voice hummed, like a swarm of bees and made Sparhawk feel distinctly uncomfortable. He steadied himself and spoke to the … thing.

"We were told that here we could find a spell to close the doorway between realms. Do you have it?"

"You want that secret? That is a large secret, yes large indeed. Will you offer the same in return?"

"I don't know what you mean."

It drew closer, and Sparhawk could see that part of the reason that the beast was humming was that it's head contained multiple tongues.

"If you wish a secret of mine." It gestured at one of the glowing jars "you must fill one in return."

"With a secret?" Sparhawk clarified.

"Yes." One hooked limb reached out to one of the dull containers and pushed it towards Sparhawk. "Give me something that is yours and yours alone. When the jar is full I will give you what you seek."

"Most of the time I don't know what I'm doing and am hoping for the best." Sparhawk said. A tiny glow appeared in the bottom, as if a drop of liquid had fallen in. Such a tiny drop in such a large container. Did he have enough secrets to fill that?

Luckily he wasn't on his own. Kalten stepped up. "Being in Sparhawks shadow is not such a bad place to be as then no-one expects much of me." Another bead appeared.

"I think sometimes nothing hears me when I pray." Bevier offered.

"I pity the trolls we hunt." Ulath.

"I worry before every battle that it will be my last." Tynian.

"If I die in service as my father did I would count it a life well lived." Khalad.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The shining liquid covered the bottom of the jar now, but there was still so much to go. Sparhawk glanced around the room at the rows and rows of jars. What had others given up to fill those?

"The less hearts hold the secret, the faster it will fill" the creature suggested.

"Do we have enough secrets to fill one of those?"

"I was six Duke Gluvir decided he wanted some of my fathers land. When he refused to sell he hired the Black Brotherhood to kill my parents." A voice came from behind him, one that he had almost forgotten was there.

Drip. A ball that was the size of the others combined.

"We were on our way to the city and in the end I was trapped under the wagon. They could have left me to die or left me to the elements. Instead they took me back." Berit continued. He was focused on the creature and the jar in a way that made his avoidance of eye contact purposeful.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

"They told me my family had given me up as they branded me. They told me I had been sold to them when they starved me. They told me I owed them when they beat me."

Drip.

Drip.

DripDripDripDrip.

"They tried to force me into obedience. I'm not sure why to start with. I think they just wanted to see if they could. Then I showed some... skill for what they were teaching. Skill they wanted to exploit. But even The Hole couldn't keep me in line. I was not smart as a child. So then they started lying."

The drips had turned into a steady trickle. Sparhawk and his friends were silent as Berit spoke, not wanting to interrupt the filling of the jar. Not knowing what they would say if they intended to. Sparhawk could tell Berit was trying to keep his emotions under control, but the echo of fear, pain and anger seeped through.

"They told me that I had been chosen. They told me they worked for the throne, that each death they dealt was royal justice. And I was stupid enough, or desperate enough to fall for that. So I worked hard and they deemed me worthy of the full title just before my sixteenth birthday. I passed their final tests. They made their final marks on me. And told me of their lies. They laughed and that broke me. I had actually believed that all that pain might be for some sort of good. I was so naïve. So I killed them. I stood at the heart of the Black Brotherhood and struck them down while the smirked at me. I let the apprentices who ran go – it wasn't their fault after all, but I made sure there was no-one left alive. There were no ghosts, no monsters. Just me."

The jar was almost full and Berit at last looked away from it to meet Sparhawk's eyes. "I'm the last Black Borther and I can't be trusted." Drip.

Berit wasn't perturbed by the intense scrutiny he had attracted from the group of men as he spoke. There was a numbness in his face that masked whatever he was feeling, but Sparhawk was sure it was nothing good. Despite what he had just heard. Despite the fact that Berit had been able to get into the palace unnoticed. Despite the fact that he had been able to get into a heavily guarded fortress, after going for his throat. Despite everything that Sparhawk knew or thought he knew about the young man standing before him... he said.

"I trust you."

Drip.

And the jar was filled.

The creature clutched it close and buzzed – was that meant to be it laughing? It scuttled across the room and settled the jar where it had been picked up from.

"And what we came here for?" Sparhawk called.

It ran towards the wall and … up the wall, limb over gangly limb. It quickly found what it was looking for and returned to the contents of yet another jar at Sparhawks feet. He jumped back as molten memories sloshed against his boot and disappeared into the floor to reveal a parchment scroll.

Sparhawk picked it up and unrolled it gently. The language was archaic but the material itself was in remarkably good condition. It was indeed the spell they were searching for, and Sparhawk exhulted.

There were only two who had not shifted there attention for what they had come for. Khalad was still staring at Berit. He raised a hand, as if to place it on his shoulder, but Berit shifted out of reach staring at nothing.

Sparhawk nodded at the thing and led his friends out into daylight once more. The edges of daylight at least as the sun was setting by the time they reached Talen who looked up eagerly as they approached.

"We should camp here for the night" Khalad suggested.


	11. Chapter 11

Talen had long since fallen asleep but the others had not retired yet. Conversation had been slow. The meal had been basic. They were all still taking in the events of in the cave, the creature, the... revelations.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kalten asked. He didn't look at Berit, but they all knew who he was talking to.

"No really, no." was the reply. He had not said a word since, and not eaten anything either.

"We're good listeners." Tynian prompted.

"What's to say." Berit was not looking up from staring at the fire. "They lied and I killed them. They were all I had and I killed them anyway."

"It sounds like the world is the better for it. I know that you were definitely better off for it." Khalad said, remembering the network of scars that he had seen on Berit's back. They had been layered and varied, telling a tale of years of pain. Berit gave him an anguished glance that pleaded silence, to keep that private between them.

"So did you just jump on them with a knife or something." He asked instead.

"More or less." Was the toneless answer.

Khalad wondered about the skill needed to fight an unknown number of older and more experienced assassins. He also thought of the men in the palace and how they had been killed quickly and cleanly.

Berit saw his look "Most of them were quite drunk. That helped." That drew a smile from the others, though not from Berit himself.

"I think I understand much more Berit" Sparhawk said forward, trying to draw Berit into what he was saying. "When we have done what we need to do here you should consider the Order. I think you would fit in well."

That did change Berit's expression. Shock was broadcast

"A man who murdered everyone he called brother?" Berit's tone ridiculed the idea.

Sparhawk ticked the points off on his fingers. "A man who has skill with a blade and without. A man who considers carefully before he takes a life. A man who values honesty above everything. A man who endured so much for the sake of justice. And..." He smiled at this. "A man who goes on mysterious, magical and quite frankly unbelievable quests."

"He's right you know" Bevier joined in "the willingness to run off into the wilderness at the slightest hint of trouble is the hallmark of a great knight."

"And the willingness to eat bad stew cooked by a bad cook. Badly." Tynian looked at Ulath pointedly, who ignored it.

Berit was studying the nobles, none of whom seemed particularly surprised by Sparhawks offer.

"You are actually serious aren't you? Despite the fact that I'm too old.."

"….you'd be expected to progress quickly..."

"…..and not gentry..."

"….luckily Sparhawk here knows a young woman who might be persuaded to change that..."

"...and only a fool would trust an assassin."

"How about if we promise not to be greedy sadistic murderers you promise not to kill us in our sleep, deal?"

The knights knocked his objections one by one, but Khalad wasn't sure how perusasive they were actually being.

"You nobles are strange strange people." Berit said eventually.

That Khalad could totally agree with.

* * *

It was sometime later. The fire had died down and only two men were awake. One of them was saddling a horse.

"Where do you think you're going?" Khalad demanded.

"Away." Berit was curt.

That made Khalad angry, that he was leaving, that he was running "Why, do you think someone is going to sneak up on you in the night or something?"

Berit snorted. "Like anyone could. No this is not for my safety but for yours."

"I don't really think we're at risk." Khalad hissed.

"Neither did they." Berit was calm in reply.

"Well they deserved it." Khalad insisted.

"I'm sure there are some souls somewhere who would disagree."

"Well they were sadistic murderers, their opinion doesn't count." Khalad put his hand on the horses bridle.

"I understand..."

But Berit cut him off with a low angry hiss. "Don't. Don't say you understand. How can you understand what it's like to live in fear that your next failure will be your last. To try and hide from men who would beat you to death because you weren't good enough. Or because you were too good and might be a threat someday. Who would put you in.." Berit forcefully stopped himself.

"I'm not going to let you do this." Khalad said simply. He thought he could become friends with the man in front of him and he wanted to ease his pain.

The next moment he found himself on the floor, not having seen the punch that Berit threw.

"I'm sorry about that but this isn't your decision." The assassin said, mounting. "All that talk earlier, about me joining the order? They are completely deluded. This is best for everyone."

Khalad felt his jaw, feeling it ache but it wasn't broken at least. "So you're just going to walk out on the fight."

"It's not my fight."

"It could be." Khalad called at his retreating back.

* * *

"What do you mean he left?" Talen was aghast, and Khalad felt another wave of anger for hurting his brothers feelings.

"Forget about him. He was offered a great opportunity and passed it up, more fool him." Kalten also sounded angry and with good cause.

"What opportunity?" Talen asked.

"It doesn't matter now. Let's just focus on the spell for the moment that's what's important." Sparhawk bought their attention back to the matter at hand. They had been in the midst of a discussion about how to proceed when Khalad had revealed that their party was now one less.

"I still say you've read it wrong. It can not say that it takes 'the life force of one man' to complete the spell." Kalten started where he had left off.

Sparhawk sighed in reply. "That's what it says Kalten, we all agree. Once we have the other ingredients we need it will take my life to say it. And I'll gladly give it." Khalad felt his stomach clench at the thought. Khalad hadn't squired for Sparhawk for very long but their two families had been tied together for generations. If Sparhawk, the last of his line, died before Khalad did he knew his ancestors would look down on him at disgust in his failure to keep his lord alive. And who could blame them.

"I know it's not ideal, and god knows I want to go home. But who here would not lay down his life if it was needed?" Sparhawk met the eyes of each man, and they nodded grimly in agreement. Bevier however looked thoughtful.

"I think we would. And maybe that would work." He saw the others puzzled expressions. "The spell says life force of one man, correct? But does it say that life force has to come to one man? Could we all not share it?"

Khalad smiled, and the others looked relieved.

Ulath clapped Bevier on the back "You are much smarter than they say my friend! Yes, I think that will work. Lets pack up, get what we need back at Phada, and go close this doorway."


	12. Chapter 12

Clouds spread over the moon and darkened the sky. From where Berit sat on a lower tree branch he had a good view of both the road and a nearby stream. He didn't want to get too far off the path and go stumbling around in the woods but he was too exposed on the ground. Here he could see anyone who approached. His horse was tied up far enough away to not draw attention to him and with cloak tight around he was just another misshapen shadow. It was set to be a long night and a lonely one.

He hadn't really noticed loneliness before. He had become accustomed to his own company: isolation was protection. If there was no one nearby then there was no one to grab you from sleep to take out their anger on you. And there was no one to die in a pool of blood. Berit sighed.

Still, he had found it pleasant to be among people who were watching each others backs instead of their own. They had joked with each other: an easy teasing humour which Berit had found enticing. They had shared food, spent time around each other unarmed. Where those things normal? Perhaps. Berit had enough self awareness to know that he had a very warped perspective in certain areas even if he didn't know what the right perspective was.

He had been thinking a lot about right and wrong lately. He had tried to do right he really had. He never took a contract on a child. He always did his own research before accepting a job so he knew who gave to charity and who beat their wives before he ever stepped near. It didn't change anything though. He had earned his reputation with blade or powder but it hadn't improved any lives. Not even his own.

Berit sighed again. The others would be in by now no doubt looking for the ingredients for that spell. A few more days, a week at most they would have cast it and the Three would be forever banished. That was a change worth making. And they had wanted him to join the Order! He shook his head at the memory. Not wise, not wise at all to put him amongst armed men, to make him rely on others. He didn't work well with others, he had explained that. He couldn't be trusted.

They had shown they could be however. With their fierce protectiveness of each other but a confidence that came from having a good man at your back. That feeling had oozed around them and encompassed Berit too. Despite all they knew about him they trusted. Not a blind trust, an eyes wide open trust that – here alone and in silence – Berit could admit was intoxicating.

He'd pretended to be a lot of people over the last few years. To gain entry somewhere or to sneak away. He wore the persona of the Assassin when he wanted to intimidate or when he was unsure. He put on the Intermediary when wanted to appear non threatening and have others under estimate him. There weren't many occasions where he could just be himself. He didn't have friends. He knew the other denizens of the streets by reputation only. There was no one he shared a drink and an evening with. He hadn't missed what he hadn't known until he _had_ known it. He had even found himself being himself – whoever that was when he wasn't hiding, covering his tracks, keeping to the shadows. Was it someone worth getting to know? He'd only just started to ask that question.

They'd manage it, wouldn't they? What would be one blade less. Ok, so technically he was carrying more than one blade but….. no. They were trained and experienced Church Knights. They could handle it. They would. Except he had already helped. He had made a difference. And he felt more peace and a greater sense of self worth from that than anything else since his parents died.

He sighed again, head hitting back against the tree trunk.

 _Damn._


	13. Chapter 13

It had gone very wrong when they had got back to Phada. They picked a different inn, just in case they had been remembered from the last visit, and this time only intended to stay one night. They had to pick up three herbs to burn to accompany the spell and then they would be off again. However, since the last time they were here there had been a rise in civil unrest and the city was deep in the third riot in two days.

Talen was frantic, searching through the crowd. He wasn't meant to sneak out, wasn't meant to follow his brother and Sparhawk, but who could resist the lure of the city. He had enjoyed his amble round until it became a nightmare as a riot sprang up from somewhere. He was caught up in it, turned around, didn't know the way back to the inn. The crowd cleared for a moment and he had a view of two familiar men on their knees before a group of soldiers.

He surged forward but took just one step before a hand caught at the back of his collar, hauling him back.

"Here now, little brother, no more shirking." A gruff voice said.

"What! let go!" Talen tried to land a blow on his attacker.

"If mother catches you gawking at soldiers one more time she will turn you out, and I'll have to do your chores."

Talen struggled, trying to lash out and wriggle free but a firm hand on his neck and arm prevented him from slipping away, as he was dragged through the crowds.

He wasn't able to see the face of his captor, hood raised, but whoever it was set a swift pace through alleys and lanes till in no time at all they were back at the inn. He was hauled upstairs to the large room they all shared before he was released. He sprawled on the floor as he lost his balance.

"What did you think you were doing? They would have killed you, and your brother if he tried to stop them, and Sparhawk if _he_ tried to stop them." It was Berit who had bought Talen back and now stood arms crossed and imposing in the center of the room.

Ulath, Tynian, Bevier and Kalten were there – it had been decided that there would be no unnecessary forays this time to avoid distractions, so they had been waiting for the other two to return.

"What am I doing, what are you doing? You left! You rode away and now you stand there like you have any right to judge, and after you let them be arrested!" Talen was yelling, getting all his fear, and not a little bit of anger out at a handy target.

"Well spoken Talen" Katlen had moved to stand in front of the door, though Berit didn't look perturbed. "How did you find us? How long have you been following us? Who's paying you?"

"No-ones' paying me" Berit radiated disdain for the concept. "And you're not hard to find if you know how to look." Berit turned an earnest gaze around the room and his body language softened to something more vulnerable. "I just... I don't know. I haven't made good choices lately and this is just the last in a long line, but be grateful I did or the boy would be dead at best."

"What's going on in the city? And were you talking about Khalad and Sparhawk being arrested?"

Berit moved to sit at the table at the centre of the room, and with varying degrees of reluctance the others joined him.

"The whole city is a powder keg and it's starting to smolder. Part taxes, but abuses from the local militia, part bandits... a whole host of things that don't really matter to us right now." Berit explained what he knew. "When there's a riot the soldiers gather anyone in the right area, it doesn't matter if they are involved or not. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time and will be on the way to a prison cell right now."

"You could have stopped them." Talen whispered, trying to hold back tears.

"Maybe." Berit admitted. "Maybe could have got them away from the twenty soldiers in the square and the thirty that were around the corner escorting the prison carts. Or maybe they would have ended up dead. Maybe you would have. I wasn't going to take that chance."

"Now what?" Bevier asked.

"Now we find out what's going to happen and how we get them out." Kalten declared. "We go out, find out as much information as possible. But be back by dark and do not under any circumstances get into trouble. Especially you Talen."

The others nodded their agreement, and the room filled with the clatter of chainmail as they moved.

Kalten grabbed Berit's arm as he was turning to go, indicating that he wanted a word. He hoped he wouldn't regret that contact.

"Why change your mind? Why come back? Really? Have you chosen your fight?"

Berit didn't answer right away, considering his answer and studying the knight. Berit knew that Kalten trusted him just about the least, but they had forged some sort of understanding, so he answered honestly. "No. But for the first time I see a possibility that there might be one."

* * *

That night they gathered once again, with no good news. Sparhawk and Khalad were being held in the garrison cells and were going to be executed at dawn the day after tomorrow along with any other supposed rioters who had not already bribed their way free.

"Can we go to the city governor, explain the mistake and ask for their release?" Bevier's idea was a good one but "No," Talen said. "Apparently last week the Governor was cursing the Church and banned all priests from entering the city. I don't think he will be receptive."

"Then how do we get them out? Attack when they are bought out?" Tynian suggested. They were not going to just let this happen.

"They'll be expecting that" Ulath shook his head, "I heard that's been tried previously and now the prisoners are heavily guarded as soon as they are taken from their cells."

"So we have to move earlier. Before they are taken for execution." Kalten concluded. "But how do five of us get into that garrison full of soldiers? Berit that seems like your area of expertise."

"We don't." The assassin replied. "There is no way to get five men in there and seven out. However," he continued before despair could take hold around the table. "One can get in and three can get out."

"Then tell me what to do" Kalten leaned forward to the young man who was offering them hope.

"Sorry, I should have been clearer. I can get in and get them out. Anyone else and it won't work. Any more" he raised a hand to forestall the inevitable offer that someone else go with him "any more and some people won't make it. Maybe I could take more if I had a week to plan but in 24 hours? It's going to be dirty and it's not going to be subtle but it's possible."

"All this time you've been telling us not to trust you, then you go run off as soon as you get a bit uncomfortable. But now we should." Ulath observed.

"Fair point." Was Berit's reply "Because I don't trust myself most of the time. But I can't make things any worse for them."

He glanced around the room, and saw agreement on each face.

"Can we help?" Talen asked.

"I'm going to need one of your lockpicks, the smallest you have. And I need to go out for a few hours."

It was barely that long before Berit returned, and they others didn't ask what he had been doing. He borrowed a bed for a few hours to be well rested, and the others made themselves scarce in the tap room. The day was once again fading when Talen handed over several likely lockpicks, Berit gave a lazy salute and scuttled off into the night. They tried not to worry, but when they saw the selection of weapons that had been left on their table – a large selection of knives and the pair of shortswords that seemed to be Berit's favourites – they couldn't help wondering how he was going to do this unarmed.


	14. Chapter 14

It was nearly midnight but Sparhawk and Khalad could not rest, not knowing they faced the gallows in the morning. There had been others in the cell earlier, but they had all been unchained and taken elsewhere, so for now they were glad to still be together. It was just as well they were trying to sleep as the guards were not quiet when they dragged a third man into their cell, one holding him roughly down while the other shackled him as they were. The man grunted as he was given a sharp parting kick to the ribs, then another lower down, causing the other two to wince in sympathy. And then there was silence apart from the gasping coming from the new cell occupant.

Khalad looked the man over: he thought nothing should surprise him any more but then the coughing groaning man in front of them did. He would have asked if he was hurt, but that was rather obvious and he would probably only receive a cutting retort or glare in response.

"Not that it isn't good to have company but what are you doing here?" He asked instead.

Berit took a shallow careful breath, feeling how his bruised ribs moved and trying to work out if they were broken. He was lying on his side so it was easy to spit out the blood that was pooling in his mouth. Hopefully that was just from his teeth cutting the inside of his mouth and nothing more serious.

"I spoke disparagingly of the governor within earshot of some guards, and then hit several of them. Apparently that's a hanging offense and there just so happens to be a hanging in the morning." He was trying for the light hearted tone of the Intermediary but Khalad could tell his heart just wasn't in it.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. I'm not sure yet and I may be starting to regret it. Any injuries that would prevent you running?"

"Less than you apparently. They were remarkably polite, considering." Sparhawk said, noting the young man's swollen lip, blackening eye and how his teeth were red with blood.

"Good." Berit sat up slowly, ribs clearly troubling him. "I don't suppose either of you have a lock pick or a knife do you?"

Khalad and Sparhawk shook their heads.

"Nail, or other bit of metal?" More shakes.

"Shame." Berit studied their chains, given a firm tug on them.

"Yes, they were very thorough, they even took our belt buckles. Did you actually have a plan?" Sparhawk asked with concern as Berit gave a pained cough and spat more blood. "Beyond hitting a soldier, that is."

"I did. And it was working fine up until this point. Here I have some options. First to bribe the guards like some of the others have done but I didn't have much hope for that really. They found the lock picks I had hidden in my boots so that's the second idea down the drain. You don't have anything I can use so my third option is no good. That just leaves me with this."

"And what's that?"

"I was really hoping I would not have to go through with this." Berit began to roll up his sleeve, and didn't stop until his whole right arm was exposed. "The guards shouldn't come back this way for at least another hour, but keep an eye out just in case, I didn't have time to double check their schedules. There are no other prisoners in these cells – they have been taken away for interrogation so keep alert for any movement."

Berit closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus. Steeling himself for something.

He set his teeth to his forearm and started biting.

"What the hell?" Khalad managed to keep his voice to a whisper

Berit didn't stop, continued to bite into his own flesh until he had an open bleeding wound an inch long. He spat blood and with a grimace reached into his arm and pulled out a small metal rod, tapered at both ends.

"That might be one of the most stomach churning things I've ever seen." Sparhawk said softly with the same horror that Khalad felt.

"I'm not really pleased about having to do that myself." Indeed, Berit looked a little pale, a little shaken at the amount of blood that was now trickling down his arm.

Khalad grabbed the arm of his own shirt and with a few firm tugs ripped it off. However he could do nothing with it, still shackled as they were out of reach of each other, and Berit's full attention was given to the locks. Using the bloody rod he soon freed himself and moved to do the same for the others.

"Fool." Khalad muttered, as he wrapped the sleeve round Berit's arm to stem the flow of blood.

"Yes." Berit agreed "I'm a fool for all sorts of reasons. I'm sorry about leaving, that was foolish too."

"And the punch?"

"Sort of sorry. You were being a bit pompous." Khalad finished tying the make-shift bandage with a bit more force than was strictly needed in response.

Sparhawk just rolled his eyes at their bickering but wisely kept silent as Berit made short work of the lock on their cell.

He did ask "Are we going out the same way as last time?" as they made their way cautiously past other closed doorways.

"No, we're in a different part of the building entirely. We are going to be a lot more obvious this time." He opened another door – the largest they had yet seen and ushered them inside. This was revealed to be part armoury and part staging area: guard uniforms covered the walls, weapons were in stands, and a table was laid out with various mugs, maps, pouches and items. There were no windows but there was another door.

There Sparhawk and Khalad found their sword and pouches which they quickly reclaimed after checking with some relief that the incense they had purchased was still there. Berit picked up his own: a short belt knife and two lock picks.

"That's all you bought?" Kahlad queried "I assumed that you had a lot more weaponry than that."

"I do, but I couldn't be entirely certain that I would be able to get these back. Now, grab a one of those helms, a cloak and a pole arm. You are now two proud members of the Phada city guard, who will be escorting a prisoner." He tucked his knife and the still bloody rod behind his back at his waist, and closed another set of irons around his wrists. These didn't click closed though.

"Because a bloody and bruised guard would draw too much attention." Sparhawk said in understanding.

"Exactly. We are going out that door and straight across the courtyard to one of the smaller wall gates. If anyone asks the commander had ordered you to take me to the plantation. That's some sort of intense interrogation from what I could find out. It makes most of the men here uncomfortable so they shouldn't ask too many questions about it. Once we are out the gate we won't head directly back to the inn, just in case we are followed."

"We understand" Khalad said, settling a helm on his head, and taking Berit's arm in a loose grip as if to stop him running off, but not actually impeding him in any way.

Sparhawk opened the door, and then joined Khalad in escorting Berit through it. He mirrored Khalad's position and the three men moved toward the outer wall. Berit kept his head down, the very picture of a beaten man.

They were stopped, as they had been expected by a guard at the gate, demanding to know what they were doing with their newest prisoner.

"The commander has instructed us to take him to the plantation." Sparhawk offered as advised. Khalad felt his shoulders tense. Something wasn't right. The actual guard had stiffened, and two other men who had been lurking in the shadows revealed themselves.

"The commander said that did he?" The guard smirked and for the first time Khalad noted the decorative braiding on this ones uniform, and how his clothing was finer than he had seen on any other guard. _Shit._

It was Berit however, who was the first one to move. He had reached behind for his knife and in one smooth move slashed the man's throat. He went down clutching and gurgling. Berit kicked the second man in the gut and had the third around the throat in a flash. Sparhawk dealt a devastating punch to the second man that knocked him out cold, and the third man soon joined him in sleep as Berit cut off his airway.

"Sorry about that" Berit said, searching the downed men for the keys to the gate. "I wasn't expecting him to be here, I didn't have time for proper planning. However I did learn that he was not a nice man. Particularly to children."

Key in the lock he turned to his two companions.

"Ready?"

They reassumed their ruse and Berit led them out into the city. They made it maybe fifty steps before an alarm was sounded behind them. Berit shed his irons and broke into a run. He ducked down passageway, climbed piles of refuse and around tight corners, having obviously prepared for something of this sort. He was quick and Khalad had a hard time keeping up so threw his polearm to one side. It would only get in the way.

Berit stopped when they entered a very much disused warehouse – old boxes were rotting in the corners and there was the distinctive smell of rats.

"Uniforms off please." He said, "and in this bag. There are some more appropriate cloaks there too." Yes he was well prepared.

Khalad and Sparhawk hid their disguise as soon as they shed it, taking the opportunity to get their wind back. Khalad eyed their rescuer, noting the stiff way he was standing and wondering exactly how painful it was to run with broken ribs.

There was no time to enquire: as soon as Berit saw they were ready he gestured and they followed. This time they walked, quickly but not quickly enough to draw attention. Berit took them on a roundabout route to get to the inn, but even so it was not long before they were stepping through the door to their shared room.

They were greeted with smiles from the others, slaps on the back and clasped hands and Talen launched himself at his brother, desperate to make contact and know that they were really there.

From the window drifted the sounds of the alarm bell still ringing, and distant shouts.

Kalten was pouring wine for all of them, even Talen, and as he handed one to Berit asked "What did you do? I think it's going to be a kicked ant hill out there."

"I told you it would be dirty and not very subtle." Berit said, accepting the offered cup.

"And all that blood on you? Is that yours?"

"It is." Berit sank into a chair with a small wince. "Not subtle."

"I need some clean hot water and some bandages." Khalad said to no one in particular.

"I'll go." Ulath volunteered, though he dragged Tynian with him

The man was quick, and thoughtful, for when they returned the knights had both hot and cold water, some towels to use for bandaging, another flagon of wine and several loaves of bread.

Khalad soaked one piece of cloth in cold water, handing it to Berit to hold against his swelling eye, before tearing into some of the bread, having not eaten the previous day. Having sated his immediate hunger he turned back to his more serious job, and got out his needle and thread once more.

"Let's see that arm." He told Berit.

"You don't have to, I can manage."

"Don't be stubborn, it makes me angry." Khalad took off the temporary bandage to evaluate the injury.

"What happened? Did something go wrong with the plan?" Tynian asked, concerned.

"Not really." Berit seemed to remember something, put down the compress he had been using and returned the borrowed lock picks to Talen. He also moved the knife from his waist to his boot, and put the metal rod on the table.

Khalad used the warm water to clean away the blood, revealing that injury was not as bad as he had remembered.

"The plan was to get himself arrested and up for execution too, so he could break us out from the inside." Sparhawk was explaining. "Honestly I don't know if he intended to take a beating in the process or not, but apparently biting a lock pick out of his own arm was."

"What?" Kalten spluttered "did I just here that right? You did that " he gestured to Berit's arm "yourself?"

"It was the last option." Berit defended, "But yes. It got the job done, why does it matter how?"

"Because tearing metal from your own body is not something you spring on your friends!" Kalten threw his arms up as he exclaimed, and it was lucky for Bevier who was standing behind him that his cup had been emptied.

"Are we friends now? That's a genuine question by the way, I don't have much to compare to."

"I'd say so. Now hold still while I get this stitched up." Khalad worked his needle steadily, drawing the jagged wound closed.

"Why did you decide to put that thing in your arm anyway?" He asked quietly, so he couldn't be heard aver the murmur of conversation from the other occupants of the room.

"I didn't. I wasn't given a choice about a lot of things." Berit returned just as softly.

Khalad wished he hadn't asked, or at least hadn't asked when he was jabbing a needle into someone – which Berit was taking with remarkable stoicism - now was not the time for him to lose his temper.

"And your ribs, how many of those are broken?" Not much of a better topic as it made Khalad only slightly less angry to remember the blows he saw land just a short time ago.

"None." Khalad looked at him, unimpressed with the lie. "You were spitting blood."

Berit reassured him with a sad smile. "Honestly. I know what broken ribs feel like. Yes they are bruised and will ache like hell tomorrow but none of them are broken."

Khalad finished his stitching. "Once again I am instructing you to keep it clean, let me know of the first sign of infection. You're an idiot, you know that."

"Of the highest order." Berit agreed.

Khalad gave a snort. "And that's why you fit in so well."

There was a brief discussion about what to do next. Dawn was fast approaching. The fact that the city might be on alert for Sparhawk, Khalad and Berit and that no-one had gotten much sleep in the last two days ensured that they would not be travelling straight away. Talen bunked in with Khalad freeing up a bed for Berit, and no-one took it amiss when he retrieved one of his knives to place under his pillow.

They stayed three more nights in the end. That was enough time for the furor to die down: it was generally believed the at the escapees had been caught though that rumor probably came from the garrison itself. Berit's bruises bloomed but he got over the worst of the stiffness and Khalad was satisfied there were no breaks or infection. An easy balance was established – no-one minded that Berit kept more than a sharp watch for the least sign of a guard uniform, and he made more of an effort to relax in company.

There had to come a point to suffer no more delays – midsummer was still a month off but they would all be happier if the job was completed sooner rather than later. The doorway had to be closed at the same place it would be opened, so a further week long ride awaited them.


	15. Chapter 15

They were now at their destination: an odd shaped building pretty much in the middle of no-where. It must be a temple of some kind but Sparhawk had never seen it's like before. There were two parts: a long thin corridor and a rising tower so that it looked like a giant letter L. The corridor appeared to have small windows, arrow slits maybe, but the tower was unbroken until the very top. It sat on the crest of a small hill, the dark brown stone standing out against the surrounding woodland.

They had been forced to leave the horses behind several miles back, with Talen to mind them once again. That had caused no small argument but Talen had been presented with the choice of stay willingly or be tied up and he had relented. Khalad relaxed a little knowing his brother was well hidden and would be safe.

Minding the horses wasn't completely a make-work task though, for the reason that they had had to travel those last few miles on foot. Spread out across the hillside beneath the building was an untidy encampment of at least one hundred men, maybe two – no doubt part of the twisted organisation bent on releasing the Three. They had made it difficult to sneak into the building un-noticed (not impossible as the had only set one guard on the doorway itself) but it would have been even harder mounted.

The inside was as featureless as the outside: the carvings no decorations down the long thin corridor or up the spiraling staircase at the centre of the tower. The only room in the whole place was in fact at the top. This was round, windowed and had a dark design engraved on the floor. This was where they would perform the spell.

"How long will this take?" Ulalth asked, as they began to set up.

"I don't know, an hour. Maybe two." Sparhawk admitted. "But I don't think it will take that long for those outside to notice. Definitely not if they notice their missing doorman."

"Just as well there's only two way's in then isn't there." Berit said from where he had been leaning against the wall.

"So you they could climb the tower?" Bevier enquired.

"I could." Berit replied with a dubious confidence "Which means that you have to assume at least one of them can. I wouldn't do it willingly though." They had to take that as fact: trusting an expert assessment.

"So we have to be prepared for it to get messy up here." Kalten mused, checking the edge of his sword.

"Not up here." Berit said. "The best plan is for me to go hold the corridor, while you do your" he waved his hands "thing. Just keep an ear out for anyone on the stairs because that won't be me."

"We can't spare anyone as back up" Sparhawk said considering. "Wouldn't it be better to hold up here?"

Berit shook his head. "The stairs are too wide, and you would get no warning if one gets past me. No Sparhawk, let me pick my battleground."

"I don't like leaving you alone, but we may have no other choice." Sparhawk sighed. "Do you need anything?"

"A spare water skin and a shield would be useful."

Tynian came forward and handed his over. "Good luck my friend."

"Are you sure Berit? You're not going into this one hundred percent." Khalad said remembering Berit's existing injuries.

"You worry about up here, let me worry about down there." Berit returned.

Sparhawk clasped the young man on the shoulder and said. "Be careful. Don't die. I want you to remember who you are is not the same as what you can do, because we still need to have a discussion about the Order."

"Do you ever give up!" Berit exclaimed rolling his eyes with humour and starting back down the stairs, yelling back up "And your pep talks could do with some work."

* * *

Berit gave himself five minutes to prepare. He mixed a few powders and poured them into his half full borrowed waterskin. He attached tripwires in a few points behind where he would take up position in case any go around him. He double checked his knives, all secure and ready to be drawn. He took out his twin shortswords. They were well balanced, finely folded steel and had cost a pretty penny but they were worth it. Blades in hand, arms outstretched, standing in the middle of the corridor the tips were only short about a foot from each wall. Perfect.

He sheathed them, double checked a couple of powders at his waist. He stretched, barely feeling the pull from his injured shoulder and arm, the ache in his ribs having subsided several days ago. Good. Then he took a stance, balanced on the ball of his feet, focused and aware of everything around him. He waited, but not for long.

Two men approached. They weren't on high alert so probably just investigating where their missing man was. They clothes were worn and their skin dirty: they had obviously been camping out here for a while. Berit didn't usually wish for others to be tired and hungry but he might need every advantage he could get.

They walked close enough to see his face, to know that he wasn't the person they were looking for.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" One demanded.

Berit considered the distance between them. He also considered the difference between the person he was and the things he could do. He still didn't know who Berit was, how he would differ from the Assassin, if he had anything in common with the Intermediary, but now was as good a time as any to start finding out. He might not have that long to live after all.

So instead of answering their questions he said "Turn back, go back to your families and live out the rest of your days in peace."

The two men shared a look, grinned and charged. Fortunately for them Berit's skill meant it was over quickly – one down with a crushed windpipe, the other had a dislocated shoulder and was in a head lock. He was young, even younger then Berit so he pleaded "Go back. Tell them this way is impassable. No-one else has to die."

"They'll kill me anyway, and I'm no coward." He spat.

"I respect you having the courage of your convictions. Not many do these days." Berit said as he snapped the boys neck with remorse.

 _Just another face to haunt his dreams._

He stepped back, and waited for whoever was in charge to realise that he had two more men missing.

* * *

Meanwhile in the tower the group had finished preparations. The symbols they needed were drawn on the floor and the sickly smell of incense filled the air. They were ready for the spell itself, and they formed a small circle. But Sparhawk pulled Khalad out of it, telling him "No, you can't join us in this."

"What?" Khalad protested "The more of us that is involved the less life force needs to be taken from each, the more chance we have of all walking out of here."

"I know but I need you to watch our back. If anyone makes it up those stairs, or manages to fly through the window, I don't think we will be in a state to defend ourselves. Plus I don't want to tell your mother I got another member of her family killed."

Khalad pulled himself from his Lords grasp. "Fine. But you and I are going to have a conversation about this later." Khalad was angry at being set aside, afraid for his friends and for himself, and as usual this made him gruff and short.

Sparhawk returned to the circle mumbling something about no-one else having this trouble with squires, gave a signal and as one the Knights started the spell. The light in the tower seemed to dim and a deep buzzing started up from somewhere. Khalad drew his sword.

* * *

Berit wished that sound would stop. It was deep enough to start to make him feel uncomfortable and had drawn in soldiers from the outside as a sure sign something was going on. Berit thought he might be generous calling them soldiers, they were not uniformed and looked as ragged as the first two. They were clearly not professionals.

Still, the number was troubling and Berit drew the one of his twin blades as twenty men flowed into the corridor. Most of them had broad swords, which to swing meant they had to be right in the middle of the corridor. Right where Berit wanted them. The narrow passageway also negated most of their advantage of numbers. At most three could fit across the corridor and that would mean they mostly got in each others way.

Berit thought that when he had taken ten men down the rest would reconsider, but they did not let up. He saw the light of religious zeal in their eyes and knew that there would be no retreat, which meant he could give no quarter.

The last two were quite skilled, and were the first to truly work together rather than just happen to be standing next to a comrade. One was on his right, one on his left, using much shorter weapons than the others. They had been taking turns trading blows with him, trying to keep his concentration split, but in those moments Berit had gained their measure. Berit ducked a swing for his neck from one side, and while he was low threw a punch to the other which landed just below the ribcage. With that man winded for a moment he kicked out to the man still completing his swing, collapsing his knee and bringing him to the floor. Berit speared his blade into the back of the mans skull and then leapt to the remaining opponent. Now they were one and one the odds were very much in his favour and the man was quickly down clutching at his bleeding throat.

The exchange hadn't been without cost to Berit though, and he eyed a shallow yet long wound on his upper arm and breathed deep. Not enough to slow him, not yet, but worth keeping an eye on.

* * *

In the tower the buzzing had intensified, the light dimming further to the point that Khalad lit a couple of torches that he had been forward thinking enough to bring along. He really didn't want to start fighting in the dark. He thought he could hear the distant clash of metal, but that could just be his imagination. He felt useless: he couldn't help Berit, he couldn't help the Knights, he just had to stand and wait.

* * *

When the next men came they didn't charge, weapons drawn. Instead they stood at the far end and raised their bows.

 _Smart, someone's smart._ Berit grabbed the shield he had been given and crouched behind it as the flight of arrows hit around him.

No, if they were really smart they would keep firing until someone got lucky, but they don't have the time for that. So instead they should keep firing just long enough to distract him, then... yes.

Four men had dropped their bows, the others pausing in their shooting, and charged at a sprint, hoping to be on him before he noticed. No such luck. A few swift blows and Berit was once again crouching behind the shield listening to the twang of bowstrings. He didn't need to look out to see another row of soldiers form up, having positioned a mirror so he could see without moving. He saw a head briefly appear and then pop back – no doubt whoever was leading double checking what he had been told with his own eyes.

This time the arrows didn't stop as he was charged. It was a sign of desperation that they would risk shooting their own and so wasn't the risk that it might have been. Particularly when you were up against an opponent who knew to position himself behind cover. And could think of other people as cover.

After a frantic five minutes the arrows stopped, all archers killed and the corridor was once again quiet. Berit took a moment to rest a hand against his ribs – one of the men had had a solid punch and he might have broken something this time. He dispassionately studied the arrow in his arm. One out of how many – not bad. It was deep enough that he wouldn't pull it out now, instead he clenched his jaw and snapped the shaft so it wouldn't catch. He took a deep breath at the lancing pain and waited for whatever would come next.

* * *

Sparhawk could feel that the spell was working. As soon as they had started to recite the incantation he felt a web of energy inside him, and slowly this was leaking into the circle. If he squinted he thought he could see it – a swirling purple mass that crept from the centre of his chest. He wondered if the others saw it, if they felt it. Looking around it was obvious they were feeling the other effects: the fatigue, the ache in bones showed on their faces as much as they must have shown on his own. The spell was definitely draining his life force, he just hoped it was also closing the doorway.

* * *

The commander changed tactics again, and obviously had men to waste. Or understood if what was happening was successful he would lose. They came down the corridor in small groups: threes or fours. They had regular intervals between them but didn't stop, determined to overwhelm him with numbers. Berit poured two powders into one of his flasks and stoppered it again, eyeing the tide of men approaching. He pulled his second sword.

Fighting two well trained opponents was more than twice as difficult as fighting one, but once you were facing three or more they started to get into each others way – Berit was able to push them into each other and they didn't have room to swing. But the numbers and constant fresh opponents was serving it's purpose.

 _I'm going to be overwhelmed if I don't get a break_ , he thought, as one slammed him into a wall. He lashed and kicked out, managing to get free of the choke hold he was in, head spinning and blood running into one eye. With a free second he dropped one blade, pulled at the water flask, shook it, unstoppered it and threw above the next wave of men.

Then he was back to it, dodging, cutting, punching. There was not much flare to his moves. He hadn't been taught to be correct, to have good posture or look good. He had been taught to move quickly, to be precise, be dirty. Anything that gets the man down and out of your way. And he had been taught to use any tools he had to.

His flask exploded – there was no shrapnel but the mix of water and powders made a hefty boom which echoed round the small space. Then gas started to creep out until it filled about two foot of the corridor. It wouldn't travel much further but would linger for a while. The men who were in that space at the time approached Berit coughing and spluttering so were quick to take down. The later ones knew to hold their breathe but were distracted by the fire they felt on their skin – this sort of acid was particularly nasty. But he had to hold at whatever cost.

The gas gave him enough time to gather himself and wipe the blood from his eye. He could fight in the dark if he had to – in fact that might be an advantage he might have to exploit if this lasted till sunset, but he would prefer not to. He had bought himself some time to wrap a quick bandage round a new wound on his leg and had taught his enemy to be more afraid.

* * *

Khalad watched at the rolling mass in front of him: like a mixture of smoke and oil it moved and shimmered. The Knights were starting to pale and he feared how much longer this might continue. A small clink caught Khalad's attention, scarce heard above the droning. He looked towards the noise and saw a small grapple over one windowsill. Leaning over he saw that it was connected to a long rope, two men hanging off it was faces aghast at his appearance. On the ground he could see several shapes: these two obviously the only current survivors of a large party who had tried to scale the tower. They must have been desperate to try which gave Khalad a surge of hope for the man down below. With a quick movement of his sword he cut the rope and sent the two screaming men down to their companions.

* * *

Berit was almost two hours in and his strength was starting to fail. He had used several other tricks against the waves of men he faced, but he had only one left. He prepared that now. His left knee had been dislocated by a well placed kick – that man had history as a brawler for sure – which had been painful to knock back in. Combined with a couple of other slashes he now had to be careful about moving his weight to his left side. A blow to the site of his arrow wound had caused his hand to numb, so he couldn't hold shield and sword at the same time. That wasn't his usual style but he didn't like having his options limited like that and he was even having trouble keeping a grip on his second sword, grip slick with blood. He had taken more blows: head, ribs, back, and was aching all over. His throat hurt from where he had been grabbed and almost strangled, at the last minute turning that around and being successful in what the other man had tried. That would bruise up lovely. He was trying not to breathe too deeply, feeling certain that he had several broken ribs at this point, but equally desperate for air.

Few men had got past him, but all had tripped on his wires in their haste to stop whatever magic his... friends? Companions? were attempting. He then had time to throw a knife at their back though those were running low now too. He didn't have the luxury of not stabbing a man in the back as dishonourable as the notion was.

He wanted to sit and rest, with a pie and a flagon, but the job wasn't done yet. _I bet Church Knights have more stamina than this, you'll have to step up if..._ If what? If he survived this and asked to join the Order and he was accepted and he could get other men to trust him after they knew what he was? That was rather getting ahead of himself.

There had been periodic rumbles from behind him, a sign of something going on and the deep buzzing had changed pitch, now much higher. He wished he knew whether it was a good or bad sign. Good, he was going to say good, just because it helped him feel better.

A small group faced him now. These men looked cleaner, better dressed, more rested, than any he had encountered before. These would probably be classed as the elite troops of this rabble, and the sharp eyed one would be their commander.

"You've taken out all my men boy. But the Three will reward us greatly when they return, and I might ask them to let me kill you again and again, for all time. How would you like that?" He goaded.

Berit didn't answer. Instead he took a step back from the men he had turned into corpses, to have clear space around him. He left bloody boot prints: not all of it was his but enough was. He was slowing and tired and against fresh skilled troops and out of ideas. Almost. This wouldn't last but he would need it. He opened his own half full water flask and downed the contents.

"Think you can give yourself a quick way out boy? Think again." The men rushed him.

Berit ducked the first sword thrust and pivoted to deliver a back hand blow. Tried to pivot, but his leg gave out. The blow landed on a thigh – painful but not incapacitating. The man kicked out, foot landing solidly on Berit's already bruised back, causing him to grunt. The men were laughing at him.

"Did you really believe you could do this boy? In a moment we will be up there, killing anywhere there and stopping this blasphemy." They were mocking, as another group of men had laughed at his naivety long ago. Berit felt the fire of anger start to burn in his stomach as he heaved himself to his feet. No not anger. His last trick had not been for anyone else but for him. A particular mix of stimulants, strong, fleeting and would leave him drained afterwards. But it washed away the fatigue in his limbs, strengthened his grip, dulled his many pains.

"It's not what I can do" he grinned at the men in front of him, and for the first time that day he charged.

He didn't remember much of what he did in those minutes- the stimulant again. But movement had never felt so easy, almost no effort. One man went down with a knife in the eye, another bleeding out from under the arm. He broke a mans skull and another's back. The surge of speed left him as quickly as it arrived. Unfortunately the pain returned at the same time and he learned in the worst possible way that his knee had been dislocated again and he hadn't even noticed. He wavered and the last man standing - the commander - took advantage of that, spearing him deep in the leg, just below his hip. The pain was sharp and he cried out. It only intensified as the man cruelly twisted and Berit couldn't help but scream in response. Luckily he had been killing men for long enough not to have to think when an opening presented itself, so his hand flew without him having to order it to, and took out the mans throat. He died with a look of shock that was almost funny.

Not so funny the blood and dizzyness and drained feeling that was now assailing Berit. He leant on the wall, breathing heavy yet shallow, hand pressed against his leg as hard as he could stand. If there was someone standing in arms reach, throat bared, he didn't know if he would be able to make a move. He slid slowly down, no longer able to support his weight, blood slick all the way down his leg.

* * *

The buzzing turned high pitched, almost keening. A wind buffeted the tower top, as unnatural as the purple glow that was now encompassing it. The Knights were wavering, he could see that though their resolve was strong the magic was taking it's toll.

In the centre of the room Khalad could see something coalescing. A ball was forming and from it came what can only be described as tentacles. Tentacles was the closest description, words not really doing justice to that mass of writhing flesh that would take many drinks to scrub from his memory. They were forcing their way out, and Khalad had the notion that they were reaching for the ones who sought to seal them away. Well he would be having none of that. He strode forward swinging, and cut into the ass in front of him. When he severed the …... tentacles... a foul smell filled the room and the... creature... screeched and withdrew.

Not a moment too soon as Khalad had to drop his sword to cover his ears the noise was so high and so loud. It bit into his brain, felt as though his insides were melting... it was... it was... and then it was gone.

The sudden lack of noise was deafening, as it took some time to adjust. The light returned, the purple mist disappeared and the wind fell. All was still for a moment before the Knights, as one, dropped to their knees, panting. They looked pale, grey and tired as if they had not slept for a week. He went first to Sparhawk, putting a steading hand on his shoulder.

"It worked." The older man managed to gasp out, elated despite his exhaustion. "The gateway is closed. The Three can never return."

Khalad was less concerned with the fate of the world right now, and more concerned with his friends. He reached into his belt and pulled out a small package, wrapped tight in paper. Opening it to reveal some sort of paper he tipped the whole lot into his full water skin, and then passed it to Sparhawk.

"Drink" he said "It's a restorative. It will help a little."

Sharing it around the five of them took a moment, but the herbs worked quickly and they soon seemed steady enough to stand, though still pale and moving stiffly.

"Have you had any trouble up here?" Bevier asked "I can't say that I would have noticed if the whole place had fallen down on top of us."

"A few tried to climb, but that didn't go well for even the ones that made it to the top. No one has come up the stairs." That meant that Berit was still fighting, and now concern for his newest friend took over.

Sparhawk put a hand to his own sword, clear declaration of intent. "Then let's go help him."


	16. Chapter 16

Berit hadn't seen anyone in a while. He had hoped that they would be the last: very view leaders would enter into battle themselves while he still had other lives to spend. He was glad for this as he knew the next person he faced would finish him. His bleeding had slowed from the initial gush but it hadn't stopped completely. He hadn't built up the courage yet to put his knee back in again so it screamed whenever he shifted. He'd have to let go of his leg wound to do it anyway and he didn't think that was a great idea. He leant his head back against the wall trying to stay awake.

His eyes rested on the carnage in front of them. It reminded him of that day, the day the Brotherhood died. The day he killed them. How many men had he killed today? He hadn't counted, he didn't want to know. He didn't need the numbers when he remembered the faces. The men lying in their own blood, the empty eyes and still chests. That day and this blended into each other, one horror layered on top of the other.

Berit began to drift, getting lightheaded. Sparhawk had told him to consider the person he was instead of what he could do. That was difficult when what he could do was so destructive. They might have heard about it, but they had never seen it before. Never experienced what his years of training had given him the skills to do. Never seen what the years of ….. living under those men... had given him the rage to do. Now it was all laid out. There was nothing more they could know about him.

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps and Berit tried to force himself so alertness without much success. Wait, they were coming from the other direction, down the stairs. His vision wavered. He could see the shape of figures in front of him but couldn't see their expressions. Just as well really, he didn't have the strength to see their looks of horror at the slaughter he had wrought. Time skipped as he didn't see them close in until he felt hands on his shoulders. He focused on the faces that were close enough now to see: Khalad and Sparhawk looking concerned and not disgusted.

"Did you do it?" He rasped out, throat still sore from his earlier strangling.

"Yes" Sparhawk said, looking worn "the doorway is closed. For good. How much of this blood is yours?"

"Enough. Too much." He mumbled, dropping his head in relief. He had done one thing in his life that he could be certain was good. But for everything else he surely deserved to die here. Pain flared in his leg as another hand pressed firmly against it and blackness started to creep into the edges of his vision.

"Of course you don't deserve to die here." Sparhawk protested, Berit unknowingly have spoken out loud.

"I'm going to say this one more time and I want you to listen. I know you used to live with monsters, and have been subjected to more than anyone should, but you need to see yourself as more than just a way to shed blood. Everyone here gets paid to kill, at the end of the day. We don't enjoy it but understand it can be necessary to keep others safe. It's a difficult balance to maintain but that's the biggest burden of a soldier. Stop thinking like an assassin they tried to make you and start thinking like the soldier you are." Sparhawk let that sink in as Berit blinked, dazed at the torrent of words.

"I think what he's trying to say." Khalad took up "is stop being such a fool and listen to us when we say we see a good man in you. I've spent too much time dealing with woodheaded knights that I can't deal with your stubbornness and will get through to you eventually. But for now I need you to stay conscious. Can you do that?"

Berit's head was whirling from more than blood loss, the weight of their expectation a new and heavy sensation.

"I can try." He whispered.

"Good, now keep the pressure on that leg for me. Look straight at me."

Berit met Khalad's eyes and didn't see any repulsion there as he was studied. "Well, despite that messy head wound I don't think you have concussion, so I think we should get out of here. Tell me what other injuries you have."

"I do have broken ribs this time" he admitted "and my knee is dislocated. Second time today. The rest is minor cuts and bruises."

"Let me be the judge of what is minor" Khalad snorted, unable to fully hide his concern at the list of injuries. "But you aren't going to be walking as far as the horses are you?"

"No. I don't... think I can stand." He was taking shallow breathes due to the pain in his ribs so had to force the words out.

"Then let me." Ulath had approached, and was reaching for him. In a smooth movement he grasped Berit's belt with one hand, his uninjured arm with the other and hoisted Berit over his shoulder. The movement made Berit feel very sick and put an uncomfortable pressure on his chest. It was better than trying to put pressure on his leg though: it was painful enough just with a hand on his thigh.

They moved slowly down the corridor, Khalad clearing the way as Ulath carried Berit over the lives he had taken. The others followed behind silent but for a soft muttering, was that someone counting?

Never mind, it took all of Berit's concentration to make sure he didn't lose consciousness. Well maybe he did, as time skipped again and they were outside. He caught glimpses of drawn weapons, men on alert for any straggling enemies.

Another skip and Ulath was setting him down, while Talen greeted his brother with an uncharacteristic hug.

"Is he ok?" the thief asked hesitantly, looking at Berit, laying where he had been put.

"Just go get my saddle bags then start a fire." Khalad told him, before moving to kneel at the assassin's side. "How's the leg?" He asked.

"Bleeding, thanks." Berit muttered, chest feeling heavy.

"Don't try and be smart, not with the man who will be holding the needle."

Khalad gently moved Berit's hands from where he was still pressing down against the wound, and replaced them with a new fold of cloth underneath.

Time skipped again and he found himself lying on his side. Someone was tapping annoyingly at his face, and he tried to move a hand to bat it away.

"I'm awake" he managed to say "just dizzy." The hand moved to press against his neck, checking his pulse, before it retreated completely.

"Then stay that way. Talk to me about something." He recognised Khalad's voice, though he vision was now too blurry to see anything at all. "I've got quite a lot of stitching to do, but most of it isn't too serious. I will see to your knee and ribs later. I can give you something for the pain and blood loss, but I need to wait for the water to boil and cool."

"I feel clammy. You .. need to start... now... I'm losing to much blood." It was still oozing from beneath his bandage, slower than it had been, but it had also been going on for a long time. How long since he first stood in that corridor? Too long. He knew how this went. He felt his limbs start to tremble as shock began to set in.

"Yes, and you need to keep talking while I do so." Berit heard a rustling and could imagine Khalad threading a needle.

He felt a blanket of exhaustion cover him. He knew that Khalad was right because his wounds didn't even hurt that much any more.

"Start talking. What is your favourite food?"

"Bread." He replied "Fresh from the oven. Crusty and …...crisp on the outside. Soft and warm on the inside. Like …... a blanket on a cold day. With fresh and cold butter... that …...melts into it."

He lost himself for a moment in the memories of his mother serving freshly baked bread over the kitchen table - memories he thought he had lost. He knew at some level it was a dangerous distraction considering the amount he was bleeding, but it was a welcome one from the repeated stab of needle through flesh. That reminded him of too many other days he'd bled.

Some semblance of the world came back as he felt himself being moved. Ribs protested and muscles throbbed as he found himself now on his back. Someone lifted his head and he a cup at his lips. He drank down whatever it was.

"That is foul." He thought. Or said. From the chuckle behind him he had said it.

No matter how it tasted it worked quickly as within minutes he found his fiery pains lessoning and the world becoming more solid again.

"That's better." Khalad said as Berit's eyes refocused. "You were bleeding quite a bit, but we've stopped that. I've taken the arrow from your arm – you'll need to take it easy on that but there wasn't too much damage."

"Thank you." He gasped feeling better than he had for quite a while.

"I'm sorry about the next bit, but have to sort your knee now." Khalad was placing his hands on his leg even as he spoke. With no warning he gave a sharp twist and Berit's knee slipped back into place accompanied by his yell. He knew that the throbbing would start to wane now the joint was set, but his torment wasn't yet over.

"This is not going to be pleasant either but we need to bandage those ribs now before they pierce a lung."

Berit nodded reluctantly. He had broken ribs before. He held out the hand of his uninjured – less injured – side and Khalad clasped it tight. With Khalad taking most of his weight and Bevier behind bracing his shoulders he made it upright. Just. His vision hazed but didn't darken though he couldn't contain a low groan at the pain the movement caused. Khalad peeled his shirt off, Berit unable to lift a hand to help. He was gentle, but the tugging of fabric from skin coated in not-quite dry blood was unpleasant. Khalad cleaned his chest and back gently then wound a bandage that Talen had passed him around his chest. It was only Bevier's firm hand that kept him upright.

"I'm glad you killed everyone who did this to you, you've saved me a job." Berit realised that sitting behind him Bevier would have a perfect view of his network of scars, and his front wasn't that much better. Berit had never let anyone else see them but right now he didn't care who saw the burns or the knife marks. Berit was in too much pain to protest, too weak for the voices in his head that normally yelled at him not to make himself vulnerable to be much louder than a whisper. There was no witty joke that the Intermediary could think of and the Assassin didn't have the strength to glare, so Berit just sat back at Khalad's gentle but insistent hand. Even that small effort caused sweat to bead on his brow.

"We're going to be camping here for the night so you can rest, for now at least." Was the last thing Berit heard.


	17. Chapter 17

Once again the night was disturbed by the sound of Berit fighting off bad dreams. This time Khalad was less concerned about the quality of sleep and more so about his painstaking stiches. He watched as one arm – thankfully not the one that had an arrow wound in it – was flung from beneath the blankets and Khalad beckoned to Kalten who was the only other one awake. The other nights had all retired early, drained from their involvement with the spell. Kalten had said he was too tired for sleep.

"We need to wake him up before he does himself more harm." Khalad explained.

"Sure, but does it take two?" Kalten queried.

"Last time he was a bit... aggressive. I don't think he's armed but we should be careful just in case."

"Last time? I don't think I want to know actually." Kalten shook his head in denial.

The two men knelt on either side of Berit, and at Khalad's quick count of three reached out and grabbed his lower arms. Their tight grip was enough to shatter whatever fear held him, for Berit awoke with a jolt. In a frantic few seconds he tried to move his arms – maybe to strike out, to protect himself – and sit up. That movement probably aggravated his leg as he gave a low cry and took a deep breath, which hitched half way through. That would be the ribs. His eyes went from clouded by sleep, to wide alert, to hazed with pain in a few seconds.

"Are you awake enough we can let go?" Khalad asked, concerned.

Berit closed his eyes again. His jaw was clenched and they could feel his arms trembling, but he nodded. The two men released their grip but didn't yet move away as Berit lowered himself very slowly back to a lying position breathing very shallowly.

"I hope you didn't rip out any of your stitches with all that flailing around" Khalad told him.

"Me too." Berit's voice was tight as he added "That was not a fun way to wake up."

"I can imagine. Can you get him something to help him sleep?" Kalten spoke over him."

"I don't need it" but Berit's stubbornness was ruined by the groan that accompanied his words.

"Let us watch your back now friend" Kalten encouraged and Berit accepted the mug that Khalad had quickly prepared. Even sitting enough to drink left Berit gasping and shifting causing Khalad to dryly comment "And I thought it was just noble blood that made men that mule headed."

Berit tried to glare at him but between the pain and the strength of the brew he had just downed he didn't manage it and his features soon relaxed into an easy sleep.

"He won't be able to ride for a few days." Katlen observed.

"The rest of you shouldn't be riding for a few days. He should be in bed for the next two weeks. More if he has been hit hard enough to cause internal bleeding. Or if he gets an infection." Khalad grumped, always annoyed when other people pushed beyond their limits. It usually just made more work for him in the long run. Just like Kalten was doing.

"There's no beds out here. And we can't stay out here for two weeks. It's summer but..."

"I know."

"I was wrong about him." Kalten admitted to the darkness.

* * *

The sun had past it's zenith when Berit next woke, and it didn't take long for him to wish he hadn't. The deep ache from his leg, ribs and knee were expected, as was the lessor from the arrow wound in his arm. What he had managed to forget about was the dozen or so other cuts he had sustained that had received some attention he didn't remember. He discovered his throat was still sore, head ached, shoulders throbbed. He thought he might have been sleeping on rocks. In short almost every part of his body hurt in some way. He couldn't help give a small groan, which attracted some attention.

"You back with us? I was starting to think Khalad had overdone it: he's a firm believer in sleep being best. Do you want a hand to sit up to have something to eat." Sparhawk was sitting beside him, oiling his sword.

The thought of moving caused him to groan again and Berit gave a gruff "No." Even his jaw hurt. When had he got hit that hard in the jaw? Or maybe it had been a collision with a wall? The chuckle he received in response did nothing to improve his humour. Nor did the other pain that was emerging: this he would have to do something about.

"I will need a hand to stand though." he told the Knight

"That's probably unwise." Came the droll reply. "Not if you don't want Khalad on your back about needlework."

"But necessary, if you understand my meaning." Berit insisted.

"Ah. In that case." Sparhawk carefully positioned his hands and took Berit's weight as he first sat and then heaved him on to his feet. Berit tried desperately to hide the pain that cost him, but wasn't sure he succeeded as Tynian came to his other side. The two knights then practically carried him to the tree line: he didn't dare put too much weight on his left leg and leaned heavily to one side trying to ease his ribs. They propped him up to give the illusion of privacy as he relieved himself. The way back was just as difficult and by the time he sat back down – the slight bump caused him a flash of pain over his abused muscles – he was exhausted and short of breath once again.

"He looks very pale. We should have Khalad take a look when he gets back from hunting." Tynian addressed Sparhawk.

"I'm right here you know." Berit growled at being ignored but sighed at the concerned looks thrown his way. "What do you expect when my bruises have bruises? You two look rough as well by the way." Rough was an understatement - they looked like he felt.

"So someone has a temper when they're hurt, that's good to know." Tynian smiled.

"Not just when I'm hurt" he grouched back but there was no energy or threat in it and the knights knew it, just passing him a spare blanket that he gratefully if awkwardly threw around his shoulders.

Their movement and conversation had disturbed the others from where they had been wrapped in bedrolls, taking the rest they needed, and as they began to unravel themselves Sparhawk passed around mugs of tea that had been steeping. Each one was accepted with no little joking about how the others were inferior in hot beverage preparation.

Berit sipped carefully on his, trying not move too much, finding yet more pains. Khalad and Talen returned to their camp carrying two rabbits each.

"Good, you are all up. How are we feeling?" He addressed the group. The replied as one, talking over each other.

"Sore." Said Bevier

"Tired" Said Tynian

"Hungry." Said Kalten

"In need of a soft bed." Said Ulath.

"Needing a drink" Said Sparhawk.

"Absolutely fine." Berit said. He started to chuckle at the looks they gave him, but stopped at the stabbing from his chest. Humour was a bad idea right now. "Ok, not fine." He could _feel_ himself pale.

"Idiot" Khalad muttered, including them all in that. "Someone clean these while I check Mr Fine here."

Berit sat quietly as Khalad checked every injury, redressed every wound, examined every bruise, speaking only to ask "How bad is the leg?"

"Well, your knee is going to be bound for a while to prevent it popping out again. This other wound is nasty and will take longer to heal. Despite the amount it bled I don't think there's any nerve damage. You will need to build up the muscle strength again and that might take half a year. Be patient, don't push too hard and it will heal fine though." Was the diagnosis, and they were all relieved that Berit had not suffered any crippling injuries. Berit felt a deep seated worry release. A serious injury would have meant death before, making it all too easy to slip up and make a mistake when on a contract. And now?

Ulath had prepared the rabbits, and had taken it upon himself to set them up for cooking. They were tucking into the soft meat when Bevier asked "So, when are you enrolling into the order?"

"You are assuming it's a when and not an if?" Berit returned with a question of his own.

"Yes, Pandions are known for their stubbornness. Now they have got their hooks in you they are not likely to let go."

"Somehow I don't think they'll accept me in my currant state." Berit winced at the thought of trying to undergo any sort of training when he couldn't even stand on his own.

"They accepted Kalten, didn't they?"

"Hey!" The offended knight exclaimed as the others laughed at Tynian's joke.

"Is it yours to offer?" Berit looked with seriousness at the broken nosed man across from him. He would hate to have something like this snatched away from him on a technicality. If he decided he wanted it, that is.

"Well, we might have to get the title thing resolved, but I've never met a rule I couldn't work my way around before." Sparhawk said, off hand.

Berit nodded to himself. He considered the skills he had and how he had been used in the past, compared to how he had been used now and found a world of difference. "I can't answer now, but I will consider it." And he found to some surprise that was true.

"Good." Ulath clapped his hands together "Now that's resolved I want to know how long we intend to sit out here. Fresh rabbit is all very well but I am keen to get back to a meal cooked over more than a campfire."

"It won't be tomorrow or the day after." Khalad saw the look of dismay on Ulaths' face. "You lot need more rest after what that spell did to you, and he" gesturing in Berit's direction "is not allowed to even look at a horse right now."

"I can ride if I need to." Berit protested.

Khalad just rolled his eyes at that "Sure. You can't take a single pace on your own but you can stay in the saddle. You might as well knight him right now, he's got as much as sense as the rest of you."

"Well I too am looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed." He mumbled back. Camping on hard ground was unpleasant at the best of times but his bruises would not thank him for it.


	18. Chapter 18

They did stay just the two more days in the end: with summer storms threatening they thought retreat to solid buildings was the best option.

There was some discussion about how to get Berit on a horse without tearing any stiches or wrenching any more muscles. Everyone contributed and few listened to Berit, so he resigned himself to being ordered around. It was strangely freeing. In the end he was instructed to put his back to the horses flank. He was given a boost into the saddle on his good leg, and then swung the other forward instead of back to sit astride. Even that was almost too much: his face pinched and chest heaved.

"Berit?" Sparhawk checked, seeing his expression. "We can fix up some sort of litter if you can't ride."

"Try it. I dare you. Let's just go shall we?" Everyone forgave him that shortness and any other times he snapped in the following days. They had every sympathy for having to ride with broken ribs, all having done it before, let alone his other injuries.

It wasn't easy to watch their new friend in so much pain. Khalad gave him as much pain relief as possible but there were limits. In better moments Berit would join in about their talk of awful meals they had eaten, or show his ability to flip a knife and make it disappear up a sleeve in a move even Talen was impressed with. In the worse moments he was silent and stiff, not protesting against the help he needed to get on or off the horse.

It was barely a two day ride to the nearest town on the best direct route home, but it took three as Berit could not manage more than a walk. It was the end of the third day when they reached the inn and Berit had been quiet for some time, as they had expected at this time of the day. What they hadn't expected was for Berit to keep on riding instead of dismounting like the rest of them.

"Keen to keep going are you?" Khalad joked, moving into a half jog to catch the horses head. His humour was dashed as he saw the flush to Berit's cheeks and the glassy look in his eye.

"Shit! Why didn't you tell me you had a fever?" Khalad exclaimed, beckoning over the nearby Bevier.

"Huh?" Mumbled Berit, blearily trying to focus. "I'm not... I mean... I... I was fine as we approached town... at least..."' he trailed off, listing to one side. He didn't have the balance he needed to stay upright so took a slow tumble off the horse. Luckily Bevier was there to catch him, but he still gave a small 'ow' of protest at the landing.

Khalad was by his side in an instant and his concern rocketed. He put a hand to Berit's forehead and felt the heat beneath it, the sheen of sweat coating his skin. Fingers on his wrist found his heart thumping unevenly. All this in half an hour?

"We need to get him inside. Now." He commanded. By the time he and Bevier had carried Berit through the doorway Sparhawk had arranged rooms. By the time they had got to one of those rooms water and supplies to treat a fever had been delivered.

They lay Berit on a bed, not trusting him to stay upright. He had started to shake, his whole body reacting to the illness that consumed him. He was no help at all as the others striped him, better to counter the raging fever. In the end he was protesting, claiming he was cold but Khalad knew to trust these declarations. Instead he started to press cold soaked clothes against his face, arms and torso, draping them over his legs and anywhere else he could.

What followed was a very long few days. Khalad had checked all Berit's various injuries and found that none of them were infected, at least visibly. Khalad had to settle for treating Berit without a poultice to draw out the fever and speed up his recovery. It happened sometimes. They all took turns watching over him, certain not to leave him alone for a moment. They were all witness to his tortured, rasping coughs and clammy skin. They held him down as his feverish struggles threatened to tear his leg wound open again. They did their share of coaxing the addled man to drink water mixed with herbs that would bring his temperature down. They were there to hear his pleas: to stop, stop, please stop, I'll be good, please not that, don't make me, please, not there, don't put me back, please. Not to them, but to the monsters that haunted his fever dreams though the men themselves were long gone. They worried when his heart pounded fast, face flushed and panting. They worried more at the times he was still and pallid and his pulse was slow.

It was Kalten who was sat with him when his fever broke and Berit had his first rational thoughts in many days. Alerted by the weak movement under the many blankets, the change in breathing at the slight cough Kalten immediately broke from his musing by the window to be visible when Berit forced his eyes open.

Without having to be asked he helped Berit to sit, pushing a multiple of pillows behind his back and held a cup of fresh cool water for him to drink. That earned it's share of groans but Khalad couldn't help but smile when he felt Berit's cool skin and saw his eyes focused and alert once more.

"What are you grinning about." Berit spluttered, almost dropping the cup and cursing at his weakness.

"Nothing. Only my favourite assassin waking up after four days, completely infection free and apparently with as much charm as when I last spoke to him."

"Sorry" Berit quickly apologised. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just surprised that _you_ are here and I …... ache...all over."

Kalten grinned again, it would take more than that to offend him. "I can admit when I'm wrong and I was very wrong about you." Kalten usually considered himself a good judge of character, but this time it had taken him far too long to see below the façade of the Assassin to the man below. He took the cup from Berit and put it to one side. "You will be seeing a lot more of us. I'm sure Khalad will be pleased to see you awake and even more pleased to confine you to bed for the next couple of weeks."

"Two weeks? I'd like to see him try." Berit scoffed.

"So would I. I don't think you could fight my grandmother right now and she's been dead twenty years."

That caused Berit to chuckle, which turned into a cough, which turned into a wince, which caused him to pale slightly.

"Maybe." He muttered. "Fine. I can admit when I'm wrong too. But surely you won't all be hanging around here for the next fortnight? You have things to do." Berit asked part in weak astonishment - starting to tremble slightly at the exertion of even this short conversation - but partly in trepidation that he would be abandoned now he was no longer useful.

"Of course! We've decided you are one of us know, and we don't leave one of our own behind. And that's something you need to get used to my friend."


	19. Chapter 19

It was actually six weeks before they arrived back in Cimmura, midsummer and the risk that went with it long past. Sparhawk still worried that the dregs of the cult would resurface, but they would be no danger now. Although they were all keen to get home none were willing to countenance any suggestion that they travel any quicker than the still healing Berit could tolerate. Days of recuperation and slow travel had done wonders for them all and Berit seemed to have dropped all barriers. Though still not going into specifics he spoke more openly about his past and for the first time in a long time felt comfortable around others.

The road forked and so did the travelers. Sparhawk was headed to the palace. The Knights, Khalad and Talen to the chapter house and Berit...

"Have you decided to join us yet?" Kalten asked.

"No." Berit replied. He saw the react with surprise. "That is, I haven't decided yet."

It would be a big change for him, even to live in the company of others again and he wasn't completely sure he was ready. He also wanted to regain more strength in his leg and stamina that had been sapped from the fever, though he didn't like to say it. Whether that was to make a good first impression or in case he needed to defend himself was difficult to tell.

"Then we will leave you here Berit, for now." Sparhawk clasped his hand in farewell.

"Don't leave it to long," Ulath called as he turned down their path "I have money resting on this."

* * *

Berit returned to one of his lofts late in the day, making sure he wasn't followed as was customary. Before he had always felt comfort in the silence of his sanctuaries but now he felt the absence of companions and companionship. He found himself missing their jokes and their bad cooking. He actually missed the sound of someone sleeping at his back and he never thought that would be the case. Where before being alone meant being safe, not he felt strangely exposed.

He tested his strength and found it worryingly lacking.

In the following months he trained in every way he could conceive of short of actual fighting or taking on another contract. He ran over roof tops and climbed every building or tower. He didn't go looking for fights, but if he wasapproached in a bar or a dark alley... well, he defended himself. With gusto. Gradually he became confident in what he could do and way happy with the limits his body put on him, despite his limp.

He was taking a walk in the city – listening to rumours, idling cataloguing any information he picked up – when he was accosted by what could only be described as a fop.

"And where have you been?" The man sneered, bolstered no doubt by the two muscled men at his back "I have need of your employer but with you in hiding or whatever I have no way to contact him."

Berit refused to be riled as he replied "My employer has not been looking for work recently."

"Well I have need of him. Tell him that I won't be paying as much as last time due to _your_ disrespect. Maybe he will teach you a lesson. Or maybe we should it now." The muscle moved in menacingly.

"No need for that" he assured, not wanting to cause a scene but sure as hell not going to let these two lay a hand on him.

"Then here" the rude, arrogant, patronising nobleman pushed a small scroll into his hands. "are his instructions. I know the likes of you can't read, and you're probably too dimwitted to remember something this complicated, so don't lose this. Understand?"

Berit considered separating his head from his body. Then he considered the look on the man's face if he walked into court as a knighted Pandian. Interesting.

"I understand." The Intermediary flashed a broad smile "And I will make sure he does too."

Three days later the fop came down with a very nasty case of a rare disease that caused painful boils to erupt all over his skin. It was rare because it was usually only found in goats. He retired to the county after that.

Four days later a man walked slowly up to the chapter house, pack on his back, slight limp in his step. He noted the drawbridge, the guards on the wall, the arrow slits. He noted the blindspots, where the wall was in some disrepair that would make climbing easier, how the guards had trouble looking down due to their helms. He'd have to do something about that.

He presented himself to the two guards. "I'm here to see Sparhawk."

"And why would _Sir_ Sparhawk want to see you?" He helmeted man said.

"Would you mind telling him that Berit is here, my Lord." Keeping polite would be important, this was his first impression after all.

The two nights shared a look and one gave a wave to a messenger – a novice stood close by – who ran off.

Berit noted the appraising they gave him, and the attention he was gaining from other stood near by. He had drawn a whispering crowd by the time Sparhawk crossed the courtyard and stood, arms folded, looking him up and down.

"I heard" he said blandly "that Duke Gluvir has gone down with a very nasty looking infection. Him and several other of the more... irritating courtiers. There are some embarrassing questions being asked."

"Imagine that," Berit responded just as blandly.

"So why are you here?" Sparhawk asked. Not challenging, just curious, but Berit knew it was an important question.

"I think my fight is here" he said simply.

The broken-nosed knight brought out a grin "Then welcome home brother."


	20. Chapter 20

Sparhawk led Berit through the practice yards to get to the main refectory: it would be mostly deserted at this time of day.

"So who lost money? Who thought I wasn't going to come?" Berit asked, taking in his surroundings.

"No-one, everyone agreed you were coming it was just a matter of when. I think Tynian might have won, but I'd have to double check with Talen, he was holding the book. I was going to grab a quick meal, do you want to join me?"

Sparhawk plated them both up bread, cheese and sliced ham, and settled them in a corner.

"So now what?" Berit it into his bread "Now I'm here."

"First, you relax a little bit. I have to sort out the paperwork to get you enrolled, I'll run over to the palace for Ehlana to sort out a title of some sort. Though that could wait until you are actually knighted I suppose. You'll bunk down in the novice dorm for now – will that be ok?" He continued at Berit's nod "and I'll let the novice master know you'll be joining. Each novice is taught at their own pace so you'll be assigned the relevant lessons. I'm sure you'll excel at the combat ones but there are other things you'll have to learn."

Berit looked calm and accepting at this so Sparhawk decided to broach something else. "The Church calls on us all for different things and..." He didn't know how to continue, but Berit finished for him.

"There may be a time when it calls on my special skills.?" Sparhawk nodded. "Don't worry I'm not adverse to using them. If the situation calls for it. If the reason is the right one. That's the point of all this for me."

"Good, I promise the reason will be as good as it can be."

They finished their meal and Sparhawk led him back to where the novices were running the sword forms.

"Sir Jehanson" Sparhawk called out to the knight who was supervising. "I have a new one for you, though he won't need the basics. This is Berit."

The novices stopped at Sparhawk's interruption and Jehanson raised an eyebrow.

"This is Berit I've heard so much about? The Legionary?"

"Legionary? Who has been saying what about me Sir Sparhawk?" Berit was instantly alert.

"Kalten may have shared a few stories after we got back. And he may have exaggerated a little and multiplied up the number of men there that day."

"To a legion? Really?" Berit wasn't impressed but he gave a sigh. "Maybe we'll talk about that when we next meet."

"I would like to see that. Kalten's stories are only ever about half truth, and he only shared the parts that matter to us here. I'll put your pack in the dorm so you can start your lesson." Berit handed it over but Sparhawk hesitated. "Sometimes the older novices will pull a few …. er .. pranks on anyone new. Hiding belongings is a common one. There isn't anything in here that would hurt them is there?"

Berit raised an amused eyebrow. "It depends on if they can hurt themselves with shoe laces and clean shirts. Oh don't look at me like that! Of course not. There are a few knives but nothing poisoned, nothing hidden. I left all that sort of thing some place safe."

"And on you?"

"Just these. " he gestured to his twin short swords "and a belt knife. Or two."

"Then I'll see you later." Sparhawk lowered his voice. "Try not to embarrass Jehansen too badly."

* * *

"So how has your first week been?" Kalten sat across from Berit who was downing his first ale of what he hoped to be many that night.

"Not helped by all that 'Legionary' business to be honest." He replied, giving no greeting.

"I was just helping your legend a little." Khalad defended himself. "Thought I'd get you off to a good start."

"Huh. It was a little awkward when Jehansen took me through basic sword forms. I got every one of them wrong for the first three days but beat him in every practice bout anyway."

"Yeah, massively overperforming will do that."

"I can't really pretend I don't see the blows coming."

"Course not, and he'd be disappointed if you did. How's the leg by the way."

"A bit stiff but fine"

"And did the novices hide your stuff?"

"Yes, in the first hour. They dropped it off the tower and it landed on the stable roof."

"And?" Kalten wanted to know.

"And I went up and got it back." There were actually two floors of indoor practice rooms above the stable so that was not quite as simple as it sounded.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Berit left out the part where the older novices had been sniggering as he spotted his bundle, three floors up. He also didn't mention how they quietened as he ran a few steps, used a barrel as a boost to reach a windowsill. Getting a leg up – slightly stiffly yet –he had stood on the sill and reached for a gap in the mortar above him. It was only a few body lengths of climbing before he heaved himself on to the rooftop. After checking that everything was present and accounted for he plotted his route down. The quickest was usually the simplest. He stepped off and fell straight as a lance. He heard a gasp as he plummeted, but ten feet above the ground he reached out to catch the end of a protruding beam. He hung for a second, losing his momentum, before dropping gently the rest of the way, and re-entering the dorm without a word.

"If you'd been a week earlier I would have won a sizable sum." Kalten reminded.

"I thought Church Knights didn't believe in worldly goods? That was what I was taught yesterday anyway."

"And the spiritual journey is one that lasts a lifetime. That is a part I am still working on." Berit laughed at that. This was the easy and honest conversation he had missed, that he didn't know it existed a few months ago.

"Just to show you I'm not baring a grudge about the money you lost me I'll give you this warning. I hear that Jehansen is tired of being tripped up and tossed about so is putting together something special for you. Something he thinks will be a real challenge."

"If you hadn't bet on the timescale of a friend making an important decision about the direction of their life you wouldn't have lost any money." Berit pointed out.

Kalten smiled at Berit's use of the word friend. He knew that many in the order had heard stories about the young man: where he was from and what he could do. None of them were close to being right but they were still wary of approaching him. He hoped to help break the ice for the sooner Berit put down roots the harder it would be for him to leave, and Kalten really wanted him to stick around.

* * *

Berit spent the next few weeks relearning old lessons. They taught the history of the Order, the history of the land and there were enough differences in what was known on the street for Berit to consider what else the common people didn't know. They assessed his ability to read, write and figure and determined he needed no help there. He started lessons in Styric that left him going to bed with headaches and cramp in his tongue from trying to get the complicated syllables correct. The arms training left his leg tired and limp more pronounced, though he hadn't been floored yet.

He saw the watchful gazes of the Knights and wondered how much they knew, how much they had figured out on their own. He had asked Khalad when he saw him in passing.

"What do they know? That a mysterious stranger accompanied our greatest heroes on a mystical quest and impressed them so much they insisted he become brother in arms."

Berit rolled his eyes at Khalad's over dramatic language. "Be serious."

"Oh I'm serious. I know what Kalten's been spreading and though everyone knows to take what he says with a whole pot of salt, he's not an outright liar. They know there's truth to the story somewhere they just don't know what it is."

"The only truth is Kalten doesn't know how to count if he thinks that was a legion."

"Well, it _is_ a nice round number. They don't know anything about your personal history. It's obvious that you have had previous training, but no-one is confirming or denying anything." Khalad reassured, knowing that his friend was yet wary about revealing the source of his skills.

"And I'd like to keep it that way. For now at least."


	21. Chapter 21

There was some excitement the day Ulath, Bevier and Tynian arrived. Though not exactly unusual to have Knights visiting from the other orders these three in particular were well known. Berit was out on the practice again so he could only give a nod of greeting as they dismounted.

"Let's try out something new. Berit, front and centre please."

Jehansen was taking training once again and he had interrupted their spear drills.

"There may come a time when you find yourself without a weapon at all and your life might depend on knowing what to do. Berit. Get out here." Berit passed his spear to his partner and approached Jehansen, who was also weaponless.

Unarmed combat would be unusual for a mounted armoured knight, but it was something he was unsurprisingly good at. From the corner of his eye – he didn't have to turn his head to see – he saw Sparhawk and his friends walking on one of the raised balustrades that surrounded the courtyard, watching the novices. Watching _him_. It wouldn't be surprising to his companions anyway.

Jehansen had been talking while Berit was musing – he had been half listening to tips on proper stance, priorities in a weaponless fight so it was no surprise when Jehansen made a lunge for him. He easily avoided it and blocked the follow up punch.

He dodged a second blow and a third. Now he had a good idea of Jehansen range he attacked – punch to the jaw, jab in the ribs, kick in the knee and he had him in a choke hold. He let up before he did any damage, holding back as always.

Jehansen pulled himself to his feet. "Good. Again." Bert put Jehansen down quicker this time, and even more so the third. Jehansen hadn't even come close to landing a blow, and looked reluctantly impressed.

He dropped his voice so his words were just between the two of them.

"Nothing I have come up with so far has challenged you has it? I'm starting to believe that Kaltens ramblings might actually be accurate."

"Surely you know him better than that?" Berit spoke just as lowly.

"So you didn't break out of a prison then. Or walk away from holding off a legion single handidly." Jehansen asked, genuinely enquiring.

"It wasn't a legion and I definitely wasn't walking afterwards." Berit winced at the memory of the weeks it took to recover enough just to sit up without feeling like he was ripping himself apart.

"Sure. Shall we see what you can really do?"

He spoke a bit louder then so the whole courtyard could hear. "And what if you were unarmed among armed and armored enemies?" At Jehansen cue four knights approached from where they thought they had been lurking in the shadows, fully armoured, helms down, armed with practise swords but even so. The novices huddled back while Berit found himself surrounded, Sparhawk and the others still watching. Berit saw Kalten, Tynian and Ulath all shake hands. He didn't know whether or not to be offended that his friends were one again betting on him.

"I would take your weapon" he said with a smile. Lets' see who he would win money for today.

"Let's pretend that these are magic swords that will disappear if you hold them." It was more than a suggestion from the novice master.

"Really? Fine." It seems that they just wanted an excuse to give him a beating. He felt his hackles rise and focus settle on him. He spared a glance up at the balcony: Khalad gave a vague one handed gesture and Sparhawk an encouraging nod. No. They weren't like that here. This would be a test intended to push but not break him. He let the Assassin go.

He carefully circled on the spot, evaluating his opponents. Evaluating the strength in his leg. They probably wouldn't try and do any more damage to it but attacking a previous injury was a very valid strategy, so he had to be prepared for it to be targeted. He didn't know these Knights but a lot could be told by the way a man held his weapon, how he stood, where he looked.

He knew he would do little harm against armour with just his fists. He would have to be quick and exact. And improve the odds. The circling knights weren't quite in concert and as they moved a small gap opened up. Berit rushed for it. They expected that, it had been a trap, but they weren't expecting Berit to run directly into one of their number, body checking him out the way. He continued to run past them and with a yell of "move!" scattered a gathering of novices that had clustered by the wall.

There was someone directly behind him – fast considering the weight he carried – but change of direction would not be easy. Three feet from the wall Berit stopped suddenly, took a step to one side and grabbed the knight on his way past. He used the other man's momentum and gave him a further push – straight into the wall. The clatter of steal on brick echoed around the courtyard and the man slumped. Hopefully he wasn't actually hurt – just pretending to be knocked out as per the rules of this mock fight.

This left Berit a little better off – back to the wall and only three men in front of him. They were cautious, tracking his movements and preparing for a feint. One was impatient however and lunged for him. Berit crouched down, low enough to touch the floor, and felt the sword pass above him. Again he surged forward – holding back would get him a mock-sword to the gut – within the man's range. He threw a handful of dirt into the Knight's eyes who, despite his protective visor closed his eyes and swore. Berit was then beside him, left shoulder against the knights right, Berit's back to his chest. He grabbed the sword arm as he was dealt a blow to the side from the man's gauntleted left hand. He gave a grunt of pain as he looped a foot round his opponents leg. The extra weight made it tough but by moving just right, shifting his balance he was able to heave the man over his shoulder, to lie winded on the ground. Berit struck down in the thin space between helmet and breastplate. If he hadn't pulled the punch it would have broken the others windpipe, as it was he would be bruised only.

Now it was two to one, odds still against him.

These two didn't wait. They charged in concert meaning Berit had to dodge and dart about to avoid their 'blades'. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for very long and his side ached abominably. He had to wait for an opening – be in the right place at the right time.

At last he timed it right and grabbed ones wrist as it moved. If he held just right…. It was difficult with the man wearing heavy gauntlets but he managed to twist just enough to get him to drop the weapon. Unfortunately that put him in the position that he could be manouvered into a tight choke hold. He felt the man pressing against his neck and felt blood vessels compress. He saw his last enemy approach, sword raised to 'kill' him so he lashed out with a viscous kick aimed for the gap in the helm. It was hard enough for the man to stagger back and considering how he was leaning over he might have a broken nose.

He was still held in a tight grip however, struggling to breathe, dark dots starting to float across his vision. He hadn't tried this since he was injured. He didn't know if it would work but his desperation for air was real even if the risk to life wasn't.

He put all his weight on the Knight's arms. He swung as hard as he could folded up like a letter to give a double footed kick to the head. The man reeled and dropped him. Berit landed on hands and knees: gulping down lungful's of air, coughing harshly and blinking heavily to clear his eyes.

He was very relieved when Sparhawk called out "I think we should call that a draw before someone actually gets hurt."

He heard his opponents, all four of them on their feet under their own power. Good. He didn't actually hurt anyone. The forth knight came to stand in front of him where he was still knelt.

"You have a strong kick" he said holding out a hand.

Berit took it, accepting the help to pull him upright. "You have a strong grip" he returned, voice gruff. He coughed again, laying a hand to his side where he could _feel_ the bruise growing.

The other men gave him each a clap on the shoulder before leaving the practise yard, joking among themselves about who came off worse against an unarmed novice, comparing injuries.

"So that's how you fight a legion." Jehansen said from where he had been standing to one side.

Berit coughed still and was perhaps not as respectful as he should have been as he said "It wasn't a legion. And that's how you get you get killed by trying to fight unarmed."

"Seems like you did pretty well."

"Not well enough." He grunted as he saw a group of knights, mixed among the orders approach him, arguing amongst themselves.

"I hope I have don't have to patch you up again." Khalad addressed him.

"He's fine, aren't you Berit!" Kalten replied for him, over his coughing. "I was just explaining to these two fools that I won: I said the fight would take less than ten minutes."

"All bets are off." Ulath didn't sound patient "when it was called off."

"That's not the way it works, tell them Berit."

"Sort it out yourselves, I am not in the mood." He responded.

"Well you were right Sparhawk, there is not really much we can teach him about weapons. You'll have to keep practising sword forms for when you get the armour though. I'll free him up for other duties in the meantime." Jehansen gave a salute as he left the group.

"And that means what exactly?" Berit asked Sparhawk "I thought he was setting me up to fail."

"No. Everyone gets some sort of final combat challenge before Jehansen decides he'd done with them. He says it teaches some humility. Most men wake up in the infirmary after that, so consider this a triumph. From now on you'll concentrate on learning Styric around whatever little jobs I can find for you. I'm sure they'll be a line asking to train against you. I will get your title sorted and you'll be knighted by the years end."

Berit was slightly dizzied by that pronouncement. He hadn't expected to be knighted so soon.

"I need a drink."


	22. Chapter 22

Berit was complaining. He had been complaining for the last twenty minutes. Khalad hadn't been expecting him to be so _moany_ about this and it was really starting to get on his nerves.

"And apart from the whole 'I can not move' thing why does it have to be so heavy! How are you meant to run in this thing?"

Khalad was buckling Berit into his armour for the first time. He was due to be knighted at the end of the month in a ceremony with as much pomp as the Order could cram in, which meant of course that the graduate would wear his armour in public for the first time.

"You don't, at least not fast." Sparhawk was sat watching in some amusement as Khalad adjusted the various belts and buckles, which was always time consuming at the beginning as they found the right position.

"That's stupid." Berit exclaimed, "This whole thing is stupid, this _stuff_ is stupid."

"This 'stuff' is centuries of tradition, and engineered to protect you from crossbows and lances. Now. Hold. Still. So I get this right. Or do you want to fall on your face?"

Few men took instantly to wearing armour. You had to learn a new way of walking, of moving, even of breathing and it took some time to do it well. So to avoid the embarrassment of have a new Knight tripping over his own feet they had practiced first.

"Now I know why you all fight in such a ridiculous way. You can barely move your arms!" Berit gestured in demonstration, earning him a rap on the breastplate.

"Stay still. Or I will tighten certain straps you definitely want left loose." Khalad warned. "And quite your whining."

"This is not whining." Berit barked. "This is pointing out a serious tactical disadvantage. And you are just in a bad mood because Sparhawk is finally going to put you through this."

Sparhawk had at last followed through on his threat to enroll Khalad and Talen in the Order, only this morning in fact. He gave Berit a steady look, not bothering to ask how he had found out. He had his ways, layers of secrets as thick as his scars.

"So we are, in fact, both annoyed with Sparhawk." Berit suggested, a small smile as he highlighted a common enemy.

"Annoyed doesn't come close." Khalad muttered, moving on to check Berit's new gauntlets. Sparhawk just grinned as he watched the two young men, both now deeply enmeshed in the Order.

"You do know I'm never going to put this on again, right Sparhawk? Genidians manage without armour after all." Berit took up a different tack, and Khalad heard Sparhawk sigh, saw him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The armour is required for all ceremonial occasions Berit. Please don't argue with me on this. I can't handle you starting a revolution on me right now."

"Fine. Ceremony. But I get to choose whether to wear it in a fight." Berit bargained.

"Some of the novices practically hero worship you after all that Legionary business – which I know is not your fault – but the last thing I need is them deciding they can do without armour."

"I won't say a word against it. In public. And I'll wear it when commanded to, but other than that..."

"You are not going anywhere near a fight unarmored Berit. I don't care what sort of title Sparhawk has conjured up for you I will not let you." Khalad surprised himself at the depth of his feelings on this. In the past months he had come to deeply respect Berit for his quick wit and amazed at his strength of endurance. They had spent more than one night drinking till dawn and Berit had shared some of his experiences with the Brotherhood. Khalad knew enough to know why Berit sometimes still woke shaking, and enough to know there was still more that hadn't been mentioned.

But despite this Berit had a deep moral streak and a profound sense of justice. He also felt he had something – a lot of things – to atone for so was diving head first into his new life. There was much to admire. Not so much the thought of him riding off into a battle against swords and bows in just a cloak and shirt.

Berit gave him an amused look, a deep stare that Khalad had gotten somewhat used to. It gathered information, evaluated it, stored it, in case it came in useful later. "I could be persuaded about the chainmail, but the armour..." He shook his head. "I like to be able to move. And see." He added, as Khalad placed the helm on his head.


End file.
